Short Stories
All Titles

In Association with Amazon.com

Home > Authors Index > Browse all available works of Frank Sidgwick > Text of Adam Bell, Clym Of The Clough And William Of Cloudesly

A poem by Frank Sidgwick

Adam Bell, Clym Of The Clough And William Of Cloudesly

Title:     Adam Bell, Clym Of The Clough And William Of Cloudesly
Author: Frank Sidgwick [More Titles by Sidgwick]

The Text.--The earliest complete text, here given, was printed by William Copland between 1548 and 1568: there are extant two printed fragments, one printed by John Byddell in 1536, and the other in a type older than Copland's. Later, there are two editions printed by James Roberts in 1605; and finally a MS. text in the Percy Folio (c. 1650).

Copland's text is obviously full of faults, and in emendations I have mostly followed Child.

The Story, lively and admirably told, contains little extrinsic interest, except in William's feat of shooting the apple from his son's head. This is inevitably associated with the legend of William Tell, which is told in the White Book of Obwalden, written about 1470; but similar stories can be found in the Icelandic Saga of Dietrich of Bern (about 1250) and in Saxo Grammaticus, who wrote his Danish History about the year 1200. Three or four other versions of the story are to be found in German and Scandinavian literature before the date of our ballad; but they all agree in two points which are missing in the English ballad--the shot is compulsory, and the archer reserves another arrow for purposes of revenge in case he misses his mark. William of Cloudesly volunteers a difficult and risky feat out of bravado.

The rescue of Cloudesly by Adam Bell and Clym of the Clough may be compared with the rescue of Robin Hood by Little John and Much in Robin Hood and the Monk, stt. 61-81 (see pp. 107-110).


Mery it was in grene forest
Among the leves grene,
Wher that men walke both east and west
Wyth bowes and arrowes kene;

To ryse the dere out of theyr denne;
Suche sightes as hath ofte bene sene,
As by thre yemen of the north countrey,
By them it is as I meane.

The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The thyrd was William of Cloudesly,
An archer good ynough.

They were outlawed for venyson,
These thre yemen everychone;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To Englyshe-wood for to gone.

Now lith and lysten, gentylmen,
And that of myrthes loveth to here;
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.

Wyllyam was the wedded man,
Muche more then was hys care:
He sayde to hys brethren upon a day,
To Carlile he would fare,

For to speke with fayre Alyce his wife,
And with hys chyldren thre:
'By my trouth,' sayde Adam Bel,
'Not by the counsell of me:

'For if ye go to Carlile, brother,
And from thys wylde wode wende,
If that the justice may you take,
Your lyfe were at an ende.'

'If that I come not to-morrowe, brother,
By pryme to you agayne,
Truste not els but that I am take,
Or else that I am slayne.'

He toke hys leave of hys brethren two,
And to Carlel he is gone;
There he knocked at his owne windowe
Shortlye and anone.

'Wher be you, fayre Alyce, my wyfe,
And my chyldren three?
Lyghtly let in thyne husbande,
Wyllyam of Cloudeslee.'

'Alas!' then sayde fayre Alyce,
And syghed wonderous sore,
'Thys place hath ben besette for you
Thys halfe yere and more.'

'Now am I here,' sayde Cloudeslee,
'I would that in I were.
Now feche us meate and drynke ynough,
And let us make good chere.'

She feched hym meate and drynke plenty,
Lyke a true wedded wyfe;
And pleased hym with that she had,
Whome she loved as her lyfe.

There lay an old wyfe in that place,
A lytle besyde the fyre,
Whych Wyllyam had found of cherytye
More then seven yere.

Up she rose, and walked full still,
Evel mote shee spede therfore!
For she had not set no fote on ground
In seven yere before.

She went unto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hye:
'Thys night is come unto this town
Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

Thereof the justice was full fayne,
And so was the shirife also:
'Thou shalt not travaile hither, dame, for nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have er thou go.'

They gave to her a ryght good goune,
Of scarlat it was, as I heard sayne;
She toke the gyft, and home she wente,
And couched her doune agayne.

They rysed the towne of mery Carlel,
In all the hast that they can;
And came thronging to Wyllyames house,
As fast as they might gone.

There they besette that good yeman
Round about on every syde:
Wyllyam hearde great noyse of folkes,
That heyther-ward they hyed.

Alyce opened a shot-windowe,
And loked all aboute,
She was ware of the justice and the shirife bothe,
Wyth a full great route.

'Alas! treason,' cryed Alyce,
'Ever wo may thou be!
Goe into my chamber, my husband,' she sayd,
'Swete Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

He toke his sweard and hys bucler,
Hys bow and hys chyldren thre,
And wente into hys strongest chamber,
Where he thought surest to be.

Fayre Alyce followed him as a lover true,
With a pollaxe in her hande:
'He shall be deade that here cometh in
Thys dore, while I may stand.'

Cloudeslee bente a wel good bowe,
That was of trusty tre,
He smot the justise on the brest,
That hys arowe brest in thre.

'God's curse on his hart,' saide William,
'Thys day thy cote dyd on!
If it had ben no better then myne,
It had gone nere thy bone.'

'Yelde thee, Cloudesle,' sayd the justise,
'And thy bowe and thy arrowes the fro.'
'God's curse on hys hart,' sayd fair Alyce,
'That my husband councelleth so.'

'Set fyre on the house,' saide the sherife,
'Syth it wyll no better be,
And brenne we therin William,' he saide,
'Hys wyfe and chyldren thre.'

They fyred the house in many a place,
The fyre flew up on hye:
'Alas!' than cryed fayr Alice.
'I se we shall here dye.'

William openyd hys backe wyndow,
That was in hys chamber on hie,
And with sheetes let hys wyfe downe
And hys children three.

'Have here my treasure,' sayde William,
'My wyfe and my chyldren thre:
For Christes love do them no harme,
But wreke you all on me.'

Wyllyam shot so wonderous well,
Tyll hys arrowes were all go,
And the fyre so fast upon hym fell,
That hys bowstryng brent in two.

The spercles brent and fell hym on,
Good Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
But than was he a wofull man, and sayde,
'Thys is a cowardes death to me.

'Lever I had,' sayde Wyllyam,
'With my sworde in the route to renne,
Then here among myne enemyes wode
Thus cruelly to bren.'

He toke hys sweard and hys buckler,
And among them all he ran,
Where the people were most in prece
He smote downe many a man.

There myght no man stand hys stroke,
So fersly on them he ran:
Then they threw wyndowes and dores on him
And so toke that good yeman.

There they hym bounde both hand and fote,
And in a deepe dongeon him cast:
'Now, Cloudesle,' sayd the hye justice,
'Thou shalt be hanged in hast.'

'One vow shal I make,' sayde the sherife,
'A payre of new gallowes shal I for thee make;
And all the gates of Carlile shal be shutte:
There shall no man come in therat.

'Then shall not helpe Clym of the Cloughe,
Nor yet Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devels in hell.'

Early in the mornyng the justice uprose,
To the gates fast gan he gon,
And commaunded to be shut full close
Lightile everychone.

Then went he to the markett place,
As fast as he coulde hye;
A payre of new gallowes there dyd he up set,
Besyde the pyllorye.

A lytle boy stood them among,
And asked what meaned that gallow-tre?
They sayde, 'To hange a good yeman,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

That lytle boye was the towne swyne-heard,
And kept fayre Alyce swyne;
Full oft he had seene Cloudesle in the wodde,
And geven hym there to dyne.

He went out of a crevis in the wall,
And lightly to the woode dyd gone;
There met he with these wight yonge men
Shortly and anone.

'Alas!' then sayde that lytle boye,
'Ye tary here all too longe;
Cloudeslee is taken, and dampned to death,
All readye for to honge.'

'Alas!' then sayd good Adam Bell,
'That ever we see thys daye!
He might here with us have dwelled,
So ofte as we dyd him praye.

'He myght have taryed in grene foreste,
Under the shadowes sheene,
And have kepte both hym and us in reste,
Out of trouble and teene.'

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.'

'Now go we hence,' sayed these wight yong men,
'Tarry we no longer here;
We shall hym borowe, by God's grace,
Though we buy itt full dere.'

To Caerlel wente these good yemen,
In a mery mornyng of Maye.
Here is a fyt of Cloudesly,
And another is for to saye.

And when they came to mery Caerlell,
In a fayre mornyng-tyde,
They founde the gates shut them untyll
Round about on every syde.

'Alas!' than sayd good Adam Bell,
'That ever we were made men!
These gates be shut so wonderly well,
That we may not come herein.'

Than spake Clym of the Clough,
'Wyth a wyle we wyl us in bryng;
Let us saye we be messengers,
Streyght comen from our king.'

Adam said, 'I have a letter written wele,
Now let us wysely werke,
We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;
I holde the porter no clerke.'

Than Adam Bell bete on the gate
With strokes great and stronge:
The porter herde suche a noyse therat,
And to the gate faste he thronge.

'Who is there now,' sayde the porter,
'That maketh all this knockinge?'
'We be two messengers,' sayd Clim of the Clough,
'Be comen streyght from our kyng.'

'We have a letter,' sayd Adam Bell,
'To the justice we must it bryng;
Let us in our message to do,
That we were agayne to our kyng.'

'Here commeth no man in,' sayd the porter,
'By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

Than spake that good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
'If that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.

'Lo! here we have got the kynges seale:
What, lordane, art thou wode?'
The porter had wende it had ben so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.

'Welcome be my lordes seale,' saide he;
'For that ye shall come in.'
He opened the gate right shortly:
An evyl openyng for him!

'Now we are in,' sayde Adam Bell,
'Therof we are full faine;
But Christ knoweth, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne.'

'Had we the keys,' said Clim of the Clough,
'Ryght wel than shoulde we spede,
Than might we come out wel ynough
Whan we se tyme and nede.'

They called the porter to a councell,
And wrong his necke in two,
And caste hym in a depe dongeon,
And toke the keys hym fro.

'Now am I porter,' sayd Adam Bel,
'Se, brother, the keys have we here,
The worst porter to mery Carlile
That ye had thys hondreth yere.

'Now wyll we our bowes bend,
Into the towne wyll we go,
For to delyver our dere brother,
Where he lyeth in care and wo.'

Then they bent theyr good yew bowes,
And loked theyr stringes were round;
The markett place of mery Carlile
They beset in that stound.

And, as they loked them besyde,
A paire of new galowes there they see,
And the justice with a quest of squyers,
That judged William hanged to be.

And Cloudesle hymselfe lay ready in a cart
Fast bound both fote and hand;
And a stronge rope about hys necke,
All readye for to be hangde.

The justice called to him a ladde,
Cloudesles clothes shold he have,
To take the measure of that good yoman,
And thereafter to make hys grave.

'I have sene as great a mervaile,' said Cloudesle,
'As betweyne thys and pryme,
He that maketh thys grave for me,
Hymselfe may lye therin.'

'Thou speakest proudlye,' said the justice,
'I shall hange thee with my hande.'
Full wel that herd his brethren two
There styl as they dyd stande.

Then Cloudesle cast his eyen asyde,
And saw hys brethren stande
At a corner of the market place,
With theyr good bowes bent in theyr hand,
Redy the justyce for to chase.

'I se good comfort,' sayd Cloudesle,
'Yet hope I well to fare,
If I might have my handes at wyll
Ryght lytel wold I care.'

Than bespake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
'Brother, se ye marke the justyce wel;
Lo! yonder ye may him se:

'And at the shyrife shote I wyll
Strongly wyth an arrowe kene;
A better shote in mery Carlile
Thys seven yere was not sene.'

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.

All men voyded, that them stode nye,
Whan the justice fell to the grounde,
And the sherife fell nye hym by;
Eyther had his deathes wounde.

All the citezens fast gan fle,
They durst no longer abyde:
There lyghtly they loosed Cloudeslee,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.

Wyllyam stert to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe out hys hand he wronge,
On eche syde he smote them downe,
Hym thought he had taryed too long.

Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,
'Thys daye let us lyve and die,
If ever you have nede, as I have now,
The same shall you finde by me.'

They shot so well in that tyde,
For theyr stringes were of silke ful sure,
That they kept the stretes on every side;
That batayle did long endure.

They fought together as brethren true,
Lyke hardy men and bolde,
Many a man to the ground they threw,
And made many an herte colde.

But whan their arrowes were all gon,
Men presyd on them full fast,
They drew theyr swordes than anone,
And theyr bowes from them cast.

They went lyghtlye on theyr way,
Wyth swordes and buclers round;
By that it was the myddes of the day,
They had made many a wound.

There was many an out-horne in Carleil blowen,
And the belles backward dyd they ryng,
Many a woman sayde 'Alas!'
And many theyr handes dyd wryng.

The mayre of Carlile forth com was,
And wyth hym a full great route:
These three yemen dred hym full sore,
For theyr lyves stode in doute.

The mayre came armed, a full great pace,
With a polaxe in hys hande;
Many a strong man wyth him was,
There in that stoure to stande.

The mayre smote at Cloudesle with his bil,
Hys bucler he brast in two,
Full many a yoman with great yll,
'Alas! Treason,' they cryed for wo.
'Kepe we the gates fast,' they bad,
'That these traytours therout not go.'

But al for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they downe were layde,
Tyll they all thre, that so manfully fought,
Were gotten without at a braide.

'Have here your keys,' sayd Adam Bel,
'Myne office I here forsake,
Yf you do by my councell
A newe porter ye make.'

He threw the keys there at theyr heads,
And bad them evil to thryve,
And all that letteth any good yoman
To come and comfort his wyfe.

Thus be these good yomen gon to the wode,
As lyghtly as lefe on lynde;
They laugh and be mery in theyr mode,
Theyr enemyes were farr behynde.

Whan they came to Inglyswode,
Under their trysty-tre,
There they found bowes full good,
And arrowes great plente.

'So help me God,' sayd Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough so fre,
'I would we were nowe in mery Carlile,
Before that fayre meyne.'

They set them downe, and made good chere,
And eate and dranke full well.
Here is a fytte of the wight yongemen:
And another I shall you tell.

As they sat in Inglyswood,
Under theyr trysty-tre,
They thought they herd a woman wepe,
But her they myght not se.

Sore syghed there fayre Alyce, and sayd,
'Alas, that ever I see thys day!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne:
Alas! and wel-a-way!

'Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
With eyther of them twayne,
To show to them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.'

Cloudesle walked a lytle beside,
And looked under the grene wood lynde,
He was ware of his wife and chyldren three,
Full wo in herte and mynde.

'Welcome, wyfe,' than sayde Wyllyam,
'Unto this trysty-tre:
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John,
Thou sholde me never have se.'

'Now well is me,' she sayd, 'that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo.'
'Dame,' he sayde, 'be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.'

'Herof to speake,' said Adam Bell,
'I-wis it is no bote:
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.'

Then went they downe into a launde,
These noble archares all thre;
Eche of them slew a hart of grece,
The best they cold there se.

'Have here the best, Alyce my wyfe,'
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye,
'By cause ye so boldly stode me by
Whan I was slayne full nye.'

Than went they to theyr suppere
Wyth suche meate as they had;
And thanked God of ther fortune:
They were both mery and glad.

And when they had supped well,
Certayne withouten lease,
Cloudesle sayd, 'We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.

'Alyce shal be at sojournyng
In a nunnery here besyde;
My two sonnes shall wyth her go,
And there they shall abyde.

'Myne eldest son shall go wyth me;
For hym have I no care:
And he shall bring you worde agayn,
How that we do fare.'

Thus be these wight men to London gone,
As fast as they maye hye,
Tyll they came to the kynges pallace;
There they woulde nedes be.

And whan they came to the kynges courte,
Unto the pallace gate,
Of no man wold they aske leave,
But boldly went in therat.

They presyd prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dreade:
The porter came after, and dyd them calle,
And with them began to chyde.

The usher sayde, 'Yemen, what wold ye have?
I pray you tell to me:
You myght thus make offycers shent:
Good syrs, of whence be ye?'

'Syr, we be outlawes of the forest
Certayne withouten lease;
And hyther we be come to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.'

And whan they came before the kyng,
As it was the lawe of the lande,
They kneled downe without lettyng,
And eche held up his hand.

They sayed, 'Lord, we beseche you here,
That ye wyll graunt us grace;
For we have slayne your fat falow dere
In many a sondry place.'

'What is your names,' than said our king,
'Anone that you tell me?'
They sayd, 'Adam Bell, Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

'Be ye those theves,' than sayd our kyng,
'That men have tolde of to me?
Here to God I make a vowe,
Ye shal be hanged al thre.

'Ye shal be dead without mercy,
As I am kynge of this lande.'
He commanded his officers everichone,
Fast on them to lay hande.

There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
'So may I thryve,' sayd Adam Bell,
'Thys game lyketh not me.

'But, good lorde, we beseche you now,
That ye wyll graunt us grace,
Insomuche as we be to you comen,
Or elles that we may fro you passe,

'With such weapons, as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hondred yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.'

'Ye speake proudly,' sayd the kynge;
'Ye shall be hanged all thre.'
'That were great pitye,' sayd the quene,
'If any grace myght be.

'My lorde, whan I came fyrst into this lande
To be your wedded wyfe,
The fyrst boone that I would aske,
Ye would graunt me belyfe:

'And I asked you never none tyll now;
Therefore, good lorde, graunt it me.'
'Now aske it, madam,' sayd the kynge,
'And graunted shal it be.'

'Than, good lord, I you beseche,
These yemen graunt you me.'
'Madame, ye myght have asked a boone,
That shuld have been worth them thre.

'Ye myght have asked towres, and townes,
Parkes and forestes plentie.'
'None soe pleasant to my pay,' shee sayd;
'Nor none so lefe to me.'

'Madame, sith it is your desyre,
Your askyng graunted shal be;
But I had lever have given you
Good market townes thre.'

The quene was a glad woman,
And sayde, 'Lord, gramarcy;
I dare undertake for them,
That true men shal they be.

'But, good lord, speke som mery word,
That comfort they may se.'
'I graunt you grace,' than sayd our kyng;
'Washe, felos, and to meate go ye.'

They had not setten but a whyle
Certayne without lesynge,
There came messengers out of the north
With letters to our kyng.

And whan they came before the kynge,
They kneled downe upon theyr kne;
And sayd, 'Lord, your officers grete you well,
Of Carlile in the north cuntre.'

'How fareth my justice,' sayd the kyng,
'And my sherife also?'
'Syr, they be slayne, without lesynge,
And many an officer mo.'

'Who hath them slayne?' sayd the kyng;
'Anone thou tell me.'
'Adam Bell, and Clim of the Clough,
And Wyllyam of Cloudesle.'

'Alas for rewth!' than said our kynge:
'My hart is wonderous sore;
I had lever than a thousande pounde,
I had knowne of thys before;

'For I have y-graunted them grace,
And that forthynketh me:
But had I knowne all thys before,
They had been hanged all thre.'

The kyng opened the letter anone,
Himselfe he red it tho,
And founde how these thre outlawes had slain
Thre hundred men and mo:

Fyrst the justice, and the sheryfe,
And the mayre of Carlile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were left not one:

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe,
These outlawes had y-slaw:

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Over all they chose the best;
So perelous out-lawes as they were
Walked not by easte nor west.

When the kynge this letter had red,
In hys harte he syghed sore:
'Take up the table,' anone he bad,
'For I may eat no more.'

The kyng called his best archars
To the buttes wyth hym to go:
'I wyll se these felowes shote,' he sayd,
'That in the north have wrought this wo.'

The kynges bowmen buske them blyve.
And the quenes archers also;
So dyd these thre wyght yemen;
With them they thought to go.

There twyse or thryse they shote about
For to assay theyr hande;
There was no shote these thre yemen shot.
That any prycke myght them stand.

Then spake Wyllyam of Cloudesle;
'By God that for me dyed,
I hold hym never no good archar,
That shoteth at buttes so wyde.'

'Whereat?' than sayd our king,
'I pray thee tell me.'
'At suche a but, syr,' he sayd.
'As men use in my countree.'

Wyllyam wente into a fyeld,
And his two brethren with him:
There they set up two hasell roddes
Twenty score paces betwene.

'I hold him an archar,' said Cloudesle,
'That yonder wande cleveth in two.'
'Here is none suche,' sayd the kyng,
'Nor none that can so do.'

'I shall assaye, syr,' sayd Cloudesle,
'Or that I farther go.'
Cloudesly with a bearyng arowe
Clave the wand in two.

'Thou art the best archer,' then said the king,
'Forsothe that ever I se.'
'And yet for your love,' sayd Wyllyam,
'I wyll do more maystry.

'I have a sonne is seven yere olde,
He is to me full deare;
I wyll hym tye to a stake;
All shall se, that be here;

'And lay an apple upon hys head,
And go syxe score paces hym fro,
And I my selfe with a brode arow
Shall cleve the apple in two.'

'Now haste thee then sayd the kyng,
'By hym that dyed on a tre;
But yf thou do not as thou hest sayde,
Hanged shalt thou be.

'And thou touche his head or gowne,
In syght that men may se,
By all the sayntes that be in heaven,
I shall hange you all thre.'

'That I have promised,' said William,
'I wyll it never forsake.'
And there even before the kynge
In the earth he drove a stake:

And bound therto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll thereat;
And turned the childes face fro him,
Because he should not stert.

An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent:
Syxe score paces they were outmet,
And thether Cloudesle went.

There he drew out fayre brode arrowe,
Hys bowe was great and longe,
He set that arrowe in his bowe,
That was both styffe and stronge.

He prayed the people, that wer there,
That they wold still stand,
For he that shoteth for such a wager
Behoveth a stedfast hand.

Muche people prayed for Cloudesle,
That his lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,
There was many a weeping eye.

Thus Cloudesle clefte the apple in two,
That many a man it se:
'Over Gods forbode,' sayde the kinge,
'That thou sholdest shote at me.

'I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countre
I make the chyfe rydere.'

'And I give thee twelve pence a day,' said the quene,
'By God and by my fay;
Come feche thy payment whan thou wylt,
No man shall say thee nay.'

'Wyllyam, I make thee gentleman
Of clothyng and of fe:
And thy two brethren yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to see.

'Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller shall he be;
And whan he commeth to mannes state,
Better avaunced shall he be.'

'And, Wyllyam, bring me your wife,' said the quene,
'Me longeth sore her to see:
She shall be my chefe gentlewoman,
And governe my nursery.'

The yemen thanked them full curteously;
And sayd, 'To Rome streyght wyll we wend,
Of all the synnes that we have done
To be assoyled of his hand.'

So forth be gone these good yemen,
As fast as they might hye;
And after came and dwelled with the kynge,
And dyed good men all thre.

Thus endeth the lives of these good yemen;
God send them eternall blysse,
And all that with hand-bowe shoteth,
That of heven they may never mysse!

4.4: 'Englyshe-wood,' Inglewood, reaching from Carlisle to Penrith, in Cumberland.
5.1: 'lith,' hearken.
9.2: 'pryme,' about 9 a.m. Cp. 72.2.
15.3: 'found,' provided for.
18.4: 'meed,' reward.
26.4: 'brest,' burst, was broken.
29.3: 'brenne,' burn.
32.4: 'wreke,' avenge.
35.1: 'Lever,' rather.
35.2: 'renne,' run.
35.3: 'wode,' fierce.
36.3: 'in prece,' in a press, crowded.
45.3: 'wight,' active.
48.4: 'teene,' sorrow.
50.3: 'borowe,' redeem, liberate.
56.4: 'thronge,' pressed, hastened.
61.2: 'lordane,' sluggard: 'wode,' mad.
68.4: 'stound,' time.
69.3: 'squyers': an earlier text gives 'swerers.'
72.2: 'pryme'; see 9.3, note.
87.1: Horns blown to call the citizens to support the civil authorities.
89.4: 'stoure,' fight, disturbance.
91.4: 'at a braide,' in a moment.
93.3: 'letteth,' hinders.
94.3: 'lynde,' tree: cp. 101.2. Here perhaps it means linden.
96.4: 'meyne,' troop, company.
104.2: 'no bote,' no boot, i.e. no advantage.
105.1: 'launde,' lawn, glade, clearing.
105.3: 'a hart of grece,' a fat hart (Fr. graisse).
108.2: 'lease,' falsehood. Cp. 115.2, 132.2, 134.3, et passim.
113.1: 'presily,' promptly.
114.3: 'shent,' scolded, blamed.
125.4: 'belyfe,' immediately. The word is spelled in many ways.
128.3: 'pay,' satisfaction.
136.1: 'rewth,' pity.
137.2: 'forthynketh me,' seems serious to me, troubles me.
139.3: 'catchipolles,' sheriff's officers.
140.3: 'fosters of the fe,'--'a person who had for some service to the crown a perpetual right of hunting in a forest on paying to the crown a certain rent for the same.' --Halliwell.
144.1: prepared themselves instantly.
150.3: 'bearyng arowe,' ? a very long arrow, such as requires to be carried in the hand. Cf. Sir Andrew Barton, 53.3.
155.1: 'And,' if.
158.3: 'outmet,' measured out.
165.2: 'fe,' money.]

[The end]
Frank Sidgwick's poem: Adam Bell, Clym Of The Clough And William Of Cloudesly