118 ‘What is your names?’ than sayd our kynge, ‘Anone that you tell me:’ They sayd, Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough, And Wylliam of Clowdesle. 119 ‘Be ye those theues,’ than sayd our kynge, ‘That men haue tolde of to me? Here to God I make a vowe, Ye shall be hanged all thre. 120 ‘Ye shall be dead without mercy, As I am kynge of this lande:’ #c.# He commanded his officers euerichone Fast on them to lay hand. 121 There they toke these good yemen, And arested them all thre: ‘So may I thryue,’ sayd Adam Bell, ‘Thys game lyketh not me. #a.# 122 ‘But, good lorde, we beseche you nowe, That ye wyll graunte vs grace, In so moche as we be to you commen; Or elles that we may fro you passe, 123 ‘With suche weapons as we haue here, Tyll we be out of your place; And yf we lyue this hondred yere, We wyll aske you no grace.’ 124 ‘Ye speke proudly,’ sayd the kynge, ‘Ye shall be hanged all thre:’ ‘That were great pity,’ sayd the quene, ‘If any grace myght be. 125 ‘My lorde, whan I came fyrst in to this lande, To be your wedded wyfe, The fyrst bone that I wolde aske, Ye wolde graunte me belyfe. 126 ‘And I asked you neuer none tyll nowe, Therfore, good lorde, graunte it me:’ ‘Nowe aske it, madame,’ sayd the kynge, ‘And graunted shall it be.’ 127 ‘Than, good lorde, I you beseche, The yemen graunte you me:’ ‘Madame, ye myght haue asked a bone That sholde haue ben worthe them thre. 128 ‘Ye myght haue asked towres and towne[s], Parkes and forestes plentie:’ #c.# ‘None so pleasaunt to mi pay,’ she said, ‘Nor none so lefe to me.’ 129 ‘Madame, sith it is your desyre, Your askyng graunted shalbe; But I had leuer haue geuen you Good market-townës thre.’ 130 The quene was a glad woman, And sayd, Lord, gramarcy; I dare vndertake for them That true men shall they be. 131 But, good lord, speke som mery word, That comfort they may se: ‘I graunt you grace,’ then said our ki_n_g, ‘Wasshe, felos, and to meate go ye.’ 132 They had not setten but a whyle, Certayne without lesynge, There came messe_n_gers out of the north, With letters to our kyng. 133 And whan the came before the kynge, The kneled downe vpon theyr kne, And sayd, Lord, your offycers grete you wel, Of Caerlel in the north cuntre. 134 ‘How fare[th] my justice,’ sayd the kyng, ‘And my sherife also?’ ‘Syr, they be slayne, without leasynge, And many an officer mo.’ 135 ‘Who hath them slayne?’ sayd the kyng, ‘Anone thou tell me:’ ‘Adam Bel, and Clime of the Clough, And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.’ 136 ‘Alas for rewth!’ then sayd our kynge, ‘My hart is wonderous sore; I had leuer [th]an a thousand pounde I had knowne of thys before.