‘Have you here my treasure,’ sayde Wyllyam, ‘My wyfe and my chyldren thre: For Christès love do them no harme, But wreke you all on me.’
Wyllyam shot so wonderous well, Tyll hys arrowes were all agoe, And the fyre so fast upon hym fell, That hys bowstryng brent in two.
The sparkles brent and fell upon Good Wyllyam of Cloudesley: Than was he a wofull man, and sayde, ‘Thys is a cowardes death to me.
‘Leever had I,’ sayde Wyllyam, ‘With my sworde in the route to renne, Then here among myne enemyes wode[667] Thus cruelly to bren.’
He toke hys sword and hys buckler, And among them all he ran, Where the people were most in prece[668], He smot downe many a man.
There myght no man abyde hys stroakes, So fersly on them he ran: Then they threw windowes and dores on him, And so toke that good yemàn.
There they hym bounde both hand and fote, And in a deepe dungeon him cast: ‘Now Cloudesley,’ sayd the Justice, ‘Thou shalt be hangèd in hast.’
‘A payre of new gallowes,’ sayd the Sherife, ‘Now shal I for thee make;’ And the gates of Carleile shal be shutte: No man shal come in therat.
‘Then shall not helpe Clym of the Clough, Nor yet shall Adam Bell, Though they came with a thousand mo, Nor all the devels in hell.’
Early in the mornynge the Justice uprose, To the gates first can he gone, And commaunded to be shut full close Lightilè everych-one.
Then went he to the markett place, As fast as he coulde hye; There a payre of new gallowes he set up Besyde the pyllorye.
A lytle boy among them asked, What meanèd that gallow-tre? They sayde to hange a good yemàn, Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslèy.
That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard, And kept fayre Alyce’s swyne; Oft he had seene Wyllyam in the wodde, And geven hym there to dyne.
He went out att a crevis of the wall, And lightly to the woode dyd gone; There met he with these wight yemen Shortly and anone.
‘Alas!’ then sayde the lytle boye, ‘Ye tary here all too longe; Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned[669] to death, And readye for to honge.’
‘Alas!’ then sayd good Adam Bell, ‘That ever we saw thys daye! He had better have tarryed with us, So ofte as we dyd him praye.
‘He myght have dwelt in grene foreste, Under the shadowes greene, And have kepte both hym and us att reste, Out of all trouble and teene[670].’