44 That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard, And kept fayre Alyce swyne; Full oft he had sene Cloudesle in the wodde, And geuen hym there to dyne. 45 He went out of a creues in the wall, And lightly to the woode dyd gone; There met he with these wyght yonge men, Shortly and anone. 46 ‘Alas!’ then sayde that lytle boye, ‘Ye tary here all to longe; Cloudesle is taken and dampned to death, All readye for to honge.’ 47 ‘Alas!’ then sayde good Adam Bell, ‘That euer we see thys daye! He myght her with vs haue dwelled, So ofte as we dyd him praye. 48 ‘He myght haue taryed in grene foreste, Under the shadowes sheene, And haue kepte both hym and vs in reaste, Out of trouble and teene.’ 49 Adam bent a ryght good bow, A great hart sone had he slayne; ‘Take that, chylde,’ he sayde, ‘to thy dynner, And bryng me myne arrowe agayne.’ 50 ‘Now go we hence,’ sayed these wight yong me_n_, Tary we no lenger here; We shall hym borowe, by Gods grace, Though we bye it full dere.’ 51 To Caerlel went these good yemen, In a mery mornyng of Maye: Her is a fyt of Cloudesli, And another is for to saye. 52 And when they came to mery Caerlell, In a fayre mornyng-tyde, They founde the gates shut them vntyll, Round about on euery syde. 53 ‘Alas!’ than sayd good Adam Bell, ‘That euer we were made men! #b.# These gates be shyt so wonderly well, That we may not come here in.’ 54 Than spake Clymme of the Cloughe: With a wyle we wyll vs in brynge; Let vs say we be messengers, Streyght comen from oure kynge. 55 Adam sayd, I haue a lettre wryten wele, Now let vs wysely werke; We wyll say we haue the kynges seale, I holde the porter no clerke. 56 Than Adam Bell bete on the gate, With strökes greate and stronge; The porter herde suche a noyse therate, And to the gate faste he thronge. 57 ‘Who is there nowe,’ sayd the porter, ‘That maketh all this knockynge? ‘We be two messengers,’ sayd Clymme of the Clo[ughe], ‘Be comen streyght frome oure kynge.’ 58 ‘We haue a lettre,’ sayd Adam Bell, ‘To the justyce we must it brynge; Let vs in, oure message to do, That we were agayne to our kynge.’ 59 ‘Here cometh no man in,’ sayd the porter, ‘By hym that dyed on a tre, Tyll a false thefe be hanged, Called Wyllyam of Clowdysle.’ 60 Than spake that good [yeman Clym of the Cloughe, And swore by Mary fre, If that we stande long wythout, Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.] 61 [Lo here] we haue got the kynges seale; [What! l]ordane, arte thou wode? [The p]orter had wende it had been so, [And l]yghtly dyd of his hode. 62 ‘[Welco]me be my lordes seale,’ sayd he, ‘[For] that shall ye come in:’ [He] opened the gate ryght shortly, [An] euyll openynge for hym!