LXIV ‘Had we the keys,’ said Clym of the Clough, ‘Ryght wel then shoulde we spede, Then might we come out wel ynough When we se tyme and nede.’ LXV They callèd the porter to counsell, And wrang his necke in two, And caste hym in a depe dungeon, And toke hys keys hym fro. LXVI ‘Now am I porter,’ sayd Adam Bell, ‘Se, brother, the keys are here! The worst porter to merry Carleile That ye had thys hundred yere. LXVII ‘And now wyll we our bowès bend, Into the towne wyll we go, For to delyver our dere brothèr, That lyeth in care and wo.’ LXVIII Then they bent theyr good yew bowes, And lokèd theyr stringes were round[676], The market-place of mery Carleile They beset in that stound[677]. LXIX And, as they lokèd them besyde, A paire of new galowes they see, And the Justice with a quest of swerers[678], That judged Cloudesley hangèd to be. LXX And Cloudesley lay redy in a cart, Fast bound both fote and hand; And a stronge rope about hys necke, All readye for to be hang’d. LXXI The Justice called to him a ladde, Cloudesley’s clothes shold hee have, To take the measure of that yeman, Thereafter to make hys grave. LXXII ‘I have sene as great mervaile,’ said Cloudesley, ‘As betweyne thys and pryme, He that maketh a grave for mee, Hymselfe may lye therin.’ LXXIII ‘Thou speakest proudlye,’ said the Justice, ‘I will thee hange with my hande.’ Full wel herd this his brethren two, There styll as they dyd stande. LXXIV Then Cloudesley cast his eyen asyde And saw hys brethren stande At a corner of the market place, With theyr good bowes bent in theyr hand. LXXV ‘I se comfort,’ sayd Cloudesley; ‘Yet hope I well to fare; If I might have my handes at wyll. Ryght lytell wolde I care.’ LXXVI Then bespake good Adam Bell To Clym of the Clough so fre, ‘Brother, se you marke the Justyce wel; Lo! yonder you may him se: LXXVII ‘And at the Sheryfe shote I wyll Strongly wyth an arrowe kene.’-- A better shote in mery Carleile Thys seven yere was not sene. LXXVIII They loosed their arrowes both at once, Of no man had they drede; The one hyt the Justice, the other the Sheryfe, That both theyr sides gan blede. LXXIX All men voyded[679], that them stode nye, When the Justice fell to the grounde, And the Sheryfe fell nye hym by; Eyther had his deathes wounde. LXXX All the citezeyns fast gan flye, They durst no longer abyde: There lyghtly they losèd Cloudesley, Where he with ropes lay tyde. LXXXI