Chapter II: Introduction: By the Editor (2)

William opened his back wind-ow,
That was in his chamber on high,
And with shet-es let his wif-e down,
And his children three.
"Have here my treasure," said Willi-am,
"My wife and my children three;
For Christ-es love do them no harm,
But wreak you all on me."

William shot so wondrous well,
Till his arrows were all gone,
And the fire so fast upon him fell,
That his bowstring burnt in two.
The sparkles burnt, and fell upon,
Good William of Cloudeslie!
But then was he a woeful man, and said,
"This is a coward's death to me.

"Liever I had," said Willi-am,
"With my sword in the rout to run,
Than here among mine enemies' wood,
Thus cruelly to burn."
He took his sword and his buckler then,
And among them all he ran,
Where the people were most in press,
He smote down many a man.

There might no man abide his stroke,
So fiercely on them he ran;
Then they threw windows and doors on him,
And so took that good yeom-an.
There they bound him hand and foot,
And in a deep dungeon him cast:
"Now, Cloudeslie," said the high Just-ice,
"Thou shalt be hanged in haste!"

"One vow shall I make," said the Sheriff,
"A pair of new gallows shall I for thee make,
And all the gates of Carlisle shall be shut,
There shall no man come in thereat.
Then shall not help Clym of the Clough
Nor yet Adam Bell,
Though they came with a thousand mo,
Nor all the devils in hell."

Early in the morning the Justice uprose,
To the gates fast gan he gone,
And commanded to shut close
Lightly every one;
Then went he to the market-place,
As fast as he could hie,
A pair of new gallows there he set up,
Beside the pillor-y.

A little boy stood them among,
And asked what meant that gallows tree;
They said-e, "To hang a good yeoman,
Called William of Cloudeslie."
That little boy was the town swineherd,
And kept fair Alice' swine,
Full oft he had seen William in the wood,
And given him there to dine.

He went out at a crevice in the wall,
And lightly to the wood did gone;
There met he with these wight yeomen,
Shortly and anon.
"Alas!" then said that little boy,
"Ye tarry here all too long!
Cloudeslie is taken and damned to death,
And ready for to hong."

"Alas!" then said good Adam Bell,
"That ever we see this day!
He might here with us have dwelled,
So oft as we did him pray.
He might have tarried in green for-est,
Under the shadows sheen,
And have kept both him and us at rest,
Out of all trouble and teen."

Adam bent a right good bow,
A great hart soon had he slain:
"Take that, child," he said, "to thy dinner,
And bring me mine arrow again."
"Now go we hence," said these wight yeomen,
"Tarry we no longer here;
We shall him borrow, by God's grace,
Though we abye it full dear."

To Carlisle went these good yeom-en
On a merry morning of May.
Here is a fytte of Cloudeslie,
And another is for to say.

THE SECOND FYTTE.

And when they came to merry Carlisle,
All in a morning tide,
They found the gates shut them until,
Round about on every side.
"Alas," then said good Adam Bell,
"That ever we were made men!
These gates be shut so wonderly well,
That we may not come here in."

Then spake him Clym of the Clough:
"With a wile we will us in bring;
Let us say we be messengers,
Straight comen from our King."
Adam said: "I have a letter written well,
Now let us wisely werk;
We will say we have the King-e's seal,
I hold the porter no clerk."

Then Adam Bell beat on the gate,
With strok-es great and strong;
The porter heard such noise thereat,
And to the gate he throng.
"Who is there now," said the porter,
"That maketh all this knocking?"
"We be two messengers," said Clym of the Clough,
"Be comen straight from our King."

"We have a letter," said Adam Bell,
"To the Justice we must it bring;
Let us in our message to do,
That we were again to our King."
"Here cometh no man in," said the porter,
"By him that died on a tree,
Till that a false thief be hanged,
Called William of Cloudeslie!"

Then spake the good yeoman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary free,
"If that we stand-e long without,
Like a thief hanged shalt thou be.
Lo here we have the King-es seal;
What, lourdain, art thou wood?"
The porter weened it had been so,
And lightly did off his hood.

"Welcome be my lord's seal," said he,
"For that shall ye come in."
He opened the gate right shortelie,
An evil open-ing for him.
"Now are we in," said Adam Bell,
"Thereof we are full fain,
But Christ he knoweth, that harrowed hell,
How we shall come out again."

"Had we the keys," said Clym of the Clough,
"Right well then should we speed;
Then might we come out well enough
When we see time and need."
They called the porter to a couns-el,
And wrung his neck in two,
And cast him in a deep dunge-on,
And took the keys him fro.

"Now am I porter," said Adam Bell;
"See, brother, the keys have we here;
The worst port-er to merry Carlisle
They have had this hundred year:
And now will we our bow-es bend,
Into the town will we go,
For to deliver our dear broth-er,
That lieth in care and woe."

They bent their good yew bow-es,
And looked their strings were round,
The market-place of merry Carlisle
They beset in that stound;
And as they look-ed them beside,
A pair of new gallows there they see,
And the Justice with a quest of squires,
That judged William hang-ed to be.

And Cloudeslie lay ready there in a cart,
Fast bound both foot and hand,
And a strong rope about his neck,
All ready for to be hanged.
The Justice called to him a lad,
Cloudeslie's clothes should he have
To take the measure of that yeom-an,
Thereafter to make his grave.

"I have seen as great marvel," said Cloudeslie,
"As between this and prime;
He that maketh this grave for me,
Himself may lie therein."--
"Thou speakest proudly," said the Justice;
"I shall hang thee with my hand."
Full well that heard his brethren two,
There still as they did stand.

Then Cloudeslie cast his eyen aside,
And saw his two brethren
At a corner of the market-place,
Ready the Justice to slain.
"I see good comfort," said Cloudeslie,
"Yet hope I well to fare;
If I might have my hands at will,
Right little would I care."

Then spake good Adam Bell
To Clym of the Clough so free,
"Brother, see ye mark the Justice well;
Lo, yonder ye may him see;
And at the Sheriff shoot I will
Strongly with arrow keen."
A better shot in merry Carlisle
This seven year was not seen.

They loosed their arrows both at once,
Of no man had they drede;
The one hit the Justice, the other the Sheriff,
That both their sides gan bleed.
All men voided, that them stood nigh,
When the Justice fell to the ground,
And the Sheriff fell nigh him by,
Either had his death's wound.

All the citizens fast gan flee,
They durst no longer abide;
Then lightly they loos-ed Cloudeslie,
Where he with ropes lay tied.
William stert to an officer of the town,
His axe out of his hand he wrong,
On each-e side he smote them down,
Him thought he tarried too long.

William said to his brethren two:
"Together let us live and dee;
If e'er you have need, as I have now,
The same shall ye find by me."
They shot so well in that tide,
For their strings were of silk full sure,
That they kept the streets on every side,
That battle did long endure.

They fought together as brethren true,
Like hardy men and bold;
Many a man to the ground they threw,
And many an heart made cold.
But when their arrows were all gone,
Men pressed to them full fast;
They drew their sword-es then anon,
And their bow-es from them cast.

They went lightly on their way,
With swords and bucklers round;
By that it was the middes of the day,
They had made many a wound.
There was many a neat-horn in Carlisle blown,
And the bells back-ward did ring;
Many a woman said "Alas!"
And many their hands did wring.

The Mayor of Carlisle forth come was,
And with him a full great rout;
These three yeomen dread him full sore,
For their lives stood in doubt.
The Mayor came armed a full great pace,
With a poleaxe in his hand;
Many a strong man with him was,
There in that stour to stand.

The Mayor smote Cloudeslie with his bill,
His buckler he burst in two;
Full many a yeoman with great ill,
"Alas! treason!" they cried for woe.
"Keep we the gat-es fast," they bade,
"That these traitors thereout not go!"

But all for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they down were laid,
Till they all three that so manfully fought,
Were gotten without at a braid.
"Have here your keys," said Adam Bell,
"Mine office I here forsake;
If you do by my coun-sel,
A new port-er do ye make."

He threw the keys there at their heads,
And bade them evil to thrive,
And all that letteth any good yeo-man
To come and comfort his wife.
Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood,
As light as leaf on linde;
They laugh and be merry in their mood,
Their en'mies were far behind.

When they came to Inglewood,
Under their trysting tree,
There they found bow-es full good,
And arrows great plent-y.
"So help me God," said Adam Bell,
And Clym of the Clough so free,
"I would we were now in merry Carlisle,
Before that fair meynie!"

They sit them down and make good cheer,
And eat and drink full well.--
Here is a fytte of these wight yeomen,
And another I shall you tell.

THE THIRD FYTTE.

As they sat in Inglewood
Under their trysting tree,
They thought they heard a woman weep,
But her they might not see.
Sore there sigh-ed fair Al-ice,
And said, "Alas that e'er I see this day!
For now is my dear husband slain:
Alas, and well away!

"Might I have spoken with his dear brethren,
With either of them twain,
To show-e them what him befell,
My heart were out of pain."
Cloudeslie walked a little beside,
And looked under the greenwood linde;
He was ware of his wife and his children three,
Full woe in heart and mind.

"Welcome, wife," then said Willi-am,
"Under this trysting tree!
I had weened yesterday, by sweet Saint John,
Thou should me never have see."
"Now well is me," she said, "that ye be here!
My heart is out of woe."--
"Dame," he said, "be merry and glad,
And thank my brethren two."

"Hereof to speak," said Adam Bell,
"Iwis it is no boot;
The meat that we must sup withal
It runneth yet fast on foot."
Then went they down into the launde,
These noble archers all three;
Each of them slew a hart of grease,
The best that they could see.

"Have here the best, Al-ice, my wife,"
Said William of Cloudeslie,
"Because ye so boldly stood me by
When I was slain full nie."
And then they went to their supp-er
With such meat as they had,
And thanked God of their fort-une;
They were both merry and glad.

And when that they had supp-ed well,
Certain withouten lease,
Cloudeslie said: "We will to our King,
To get us a charter of peace;
Al-ice shall be at our sojourning,
In a nunnery here beside,
And my two sons shall with her go,
And there they shall abide.

"Mine eldest son shall go with me,
For him have I no care,
And he shall bring you word again
How that we do fare."
Thus be these yeomen to London gone,
As fast as they may hie,
Till they came to the King's pal-ace,
Where they would needs be.

And when they came to the King-es court,
Unto the palace gate,
Of no man would they ask no leave,
But boldly went in thereat.
They press-ed prestly into the hall,
Of no man had they dread;
The porter came after, and did them call,
And with them gan to chide.

The usher said: "Yeomen, what would ye have?
I pray you tell to me;
You might thus make officers shent,
Good sirs, of whence be ye?"
"Sir, we be outlaws of the for-est,
Certain without any lease,
And hither we be come to our King,
To get us a charter of peace."--

And when they came before the King,
As it was the law of the land,
They kneel-ed down without lett-ing,
And each held up his hand.
They said: "Lord, we beseech thee here,
That ye will grant us grace:
For we have slain your fat fallow deer
In many a sundry place."--

"What be your names?" then said our King,
"Anon that you tell me."
They said: "Adam Bell, Clym of the Clough,
And William of Cloudeslie."--
"Be ye those thieves," then said our King,
"That men have told of to me?
Here to God I make avowe
Ye shall be hanged all three!

"Ye shall be dead without merc-y,
As I am King of this land."
He commanded his officers every one
Fast on them to lay hand.
There they took these good yeomen;
And arrested them all three.
"So may I thrive," said Adam Bell,
"This game liketh not me.

"But, good lord, we beseech you now,
That ye will grant us grace,
Insomuch as we be to you comen;
Or else that we may fro you pace
With such weapons as we have here,
Till we be out of your place;
And if we live this hundred year,
Of you we will ask no grace."--

"Ye speak proudly," said the King;
"Ye shall be hanged all three."
"That were great pity," then said the Queen,
"If any grace might be.
My lord, when I came first into this land,
To be your wedded wife,
Ye said the first boon that I would ask,
Ye would grant it me belife.

"And I asked never none till now:
Therefore, good lord, grant it me."
"Now ask it, madam," said the King,
"And granted shall it be."--
"Then, good my lord, I you beseech,
These yeomen grant ye me."--
"Madam, ye might have asked a boon,
That should have been worth them all three:

"Ye might have ask-ed towers and towns,
Parks and for-ests plent-y."--
"None so pleasant to my pay," she said,
"Nor none so lief to me."--
"Madam, sith it is your desire,
Your asking granted shall be;
But I had liever have given you
Good market town-es three."

The Queen she was a glad wom-an,
And said: "Lord, gramerc-y,
I dare well undertake for them
That true men shall they be.
But, good lord, speak some merry word,
That comfort they may see."--
"I grant you grace," then said our King;
"Wash, fellows, and to meat go ye."

They had not sitten but a while,
Certain, without leas-ing,
There came two messengers out of the north,
With letters to our King.
And when they came before the King,
They kneeled down upon their knee,
And said: "Lord, your officers greet you well
Of Carlisle in the north countree."--

"How fareth my Justice?" said the King,
"And my Sheriff also?"--
"Sir, they be slain, without leas-ing,
And many an officer mo."--
"Who hath them slain?" then said the King,
"Anon thou tell-e me."--
"Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough,
And William of Cloudeslie."--

"Alas, for ruth!" then said our King,
"My heart is wondrous sore;
I had liever than a thousand pound
I had known of this before;
For I have y-granted them grace,
And that forthinketh me:
But had I known all this before,
They had been hanged all three."--

The King he opened the letter anon,
Himself he read it tho,
And found how these three outlaws had slain
Three hundred men and mo;
First the Justice and the Sheriff,
And the Mayor of Carlisle town,
Of all the const-ables and catchipolls
Alive were left but one;

The bailiffs and the bedels both,
And the serjeants of the law,
And forty fosters of the fee,
These outlaws have they slaw;
And broken his parks, and slain his deer,
Over all they chose the best,
So perilous outlaws as they were,
Walked not by east nor west.

When the King this letter had read,
In his heart he sigh-ed sore:
"Take up the table," anon he bade:
"For I may eat no more."
The King called his best archers
To the butts with him to go;
"I will see these fellows shoot," he said,
"That in the north have wrought this woe."

The King-es bowmen busk them blive,
And the Queen's archers also,
So did these three wight yeomen;
With them they thought to go.
There twice or thrice they shot about,
For to assay their hand;
There was no shot these yeomen shot,
That any prick might them stand.

Then spake William of Cloudeslie:
"By Him that for me died,
I hold him never no good archer,
That shooteth at butts so wide."--
"Whereat, then?" said our King,
"I pray thee tell to me."--
"At such a butt, sir," he said,
"As men use in my countree."--

William went into the field,
And his two brothers with him,
There they set up two hazel rods,
Twenty score paces between.
"I hold him an archer," said Cloudeslie,
"That yonder wand cleaveth in two."--
"Here is none such," said the King,
"For no man that can so do."

"I shall assay, sir," said Cloudeslie,
"Ere that I farther go."
Cloudeslie with a bearing arrow
Clave the wand in two.
"Thou art the best archer," said the King,
"Forsooth that ever I see."--
"And yet for your love," said William,
"I will do more mastrie.

"I have a son is seven year old;
He is to me full dear;
I will tie him to a stake,
All shall see him that be here,
And lay an apple upon his head,
And go six score paces him fro,
And I myself with a broad arrow
Shall cleave the apple in two."--

"Now haste thee, then," said the King,
"By him that died on a tree,
But if thou do not as thou hast said,
Hang-ed shalt thou be.
An thou touch his head or gown,
In sight that men may see,
By all the saints that be in heaven,
I shall you hang all three."--

"That I have promised," said William,
"That I will never forsake;"
And there even, before the King,
In the earth he drove a stake,
And bound thereto his eldest son,
And bade him stand still thereat,
And turn-ed the child's face him fro,
Because he should not start.

An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bow he bent,
Six score paces they were out met,
And thither Cloudeslie went;
There he drew out a fair broad arrow;
His bow was great and long;
He set that arrow in his bow,
That was both stiff and strong.

He prayed the people that was there,
That they would still stand:
For he that shooteth for such a wag-er
Hath need of a steady hand.
Much people prayed for Cloudeslie,
That his life saved might be;
And when he made him ready to shoot,
There was many a weeping ee.

Thus Cloudeslie cleft the apple in two,
As many a man might see.
"Now God forbid," then said the King,
"That ever thou shoot at me!
I give thee eighteen pence a day,
And my bow shalt thou bear,
And over all the north countree
I make thee chief rid-er."--

"And I give thee seventeen pence a day," said the Queen,
"By God and by my fay,
Come fetch thy payment when thou wilt,
No man shall say thee nay.
William, I make thee a gentleman
Of clothing and of fee,
And thy two brethren yeomen of my chamber:
For they are seemly to see;

"Your son, for he is tender of age,
Of my wine-cellar shall he be,
And when he cometh to man's estate,
Better preferred shall he be.
And, William, bring me your wife," said the Queen,
"Me longeth her sore to see;
She shall be my chief gentlewoman,
To govern my nursery."

The yeomen thanked them full courteously,
And said: "To some bishop we'll wend,
Of all the sins that we have done
To be assoiled at his hand."
So forth be gone these good yeomen,
As fast as they might hie;
And after came and dwelt with the King,
And died good men all three.

Thus ended the lives of these good yeomen,
God send them eternal bliss;
And all that with a hand-bow shooteth,
That of heaven they may never miss!

BINNORIE.

There were two sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
There came a knight to be their wooer
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.

He courted the eldest with glove and ring,
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing.

He courted the eldest with brooch and knife,
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon his life.

The eldest she was vex-ed sair,
And sore envi-ed her sister fair.

Upon a morning fair and clear
She cried upon her sister dear:

"O, sister, come to yon river strand,
And see our father's ships come to land."

She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river strand.

And as they walk-ed by the linn,
The eldest dang the youngest in.

"O, sister, sister, reach your hand,
And ye'll be heir to a' my land!"--

"Foul fa' the hand that I wad take
To twin me o' my warld's make!"--

"O, sister, reach me but your glove,
And sweet William shall be your love!"--

"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,
And sweet William shall be my love:

"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair
Garr'd me gang maiden evermair."

She clasped her hands about a broom root,
But her cruel sister she loosed them out.

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam,
Until she came to the miller's dam.

The miller's daughter was baking bread,
She went for water as she had need.

"O father, father, draw your dam!
There's either a maid or a milk-white swan!"

The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drowned wom-an.

You couldna see her yellow hair
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare;

You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae bra'.

A famous harper passing by,
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;

And when he looked that ladye on,
He sighed and made a heavy moan.

He made a harp of her breast-bone,
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;

He's ta'en three locks of her yellow hair,
And wi' them strung his harp sae fair.

He brought it to her father's hall,
And there was the court assembled all.

He laid this harp upon a stone,
And straight it began to play alone:

"Oh, yonder sits my father, the king,
And yonder sits my mother, the queen,

And yonder stands my brother, Hugh,
And yonder my William, sweet and true."

But the last tune that the harp played then
Binnorie! O Binnorie!
Was, "Wae to my sister, false Ellen,
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie!"

KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR-MAID.

I read that once in Africa
A princely wight did reign,
Who had to name Cophetua,
As poets they did feign:
From nature's laws he did decline,
For sure he was not of my mind,
He car-ed not for women-kind,
But did them all disdain.
But mark what happened on a day:
As he out of his window lay,
He saw a beggar all in gray,
The which did cause his pain.

The blinded boy, that shoots so trim,
From heaven down did hie;
He drew a dart and shot at him,
In place where he did lie:
Which soon did pierce him to the quick,
And when he felt the arrow prick,
Which in his tender heart did stick,
He looked as he would die.
"What sudden chance is this," quoth he,
"That I to love must subject be,
Which never thereto would agree,
But still did it defy?"

Then from the window he did come,
And laid him on his bed,
A thousand heaps of care did run
Within his troubled head:
For now he means to crave her love,
And now he seeks which way to prove
How he his fancy might remove,
And not this beggar wed.
But Cupid had him so in snare,
That this poor beggar must prepare
A salve to cure him of his care,
Or else he would be dead.

And, as he musing thus did lie,
He thought for to devise
How he might have her company,
That so did 'maze his eyes.
"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;
For surely thou shalt be my wife,
Or else this hand with bloody knife
The gods shall sure suffice!"
Then from his bed he soon arose,
And to his palace gate he goes;
Full little then this beggar knows
When she the king espies.

"The gods preserve your majesty!"
The beggars all gan cry:
"Vouchsafe to give your charity
Our children's food to buy!"
The king to them his purse did cast,
And they to part it made great haste;
This silly woman was the last
That after them did hie.
The king he called her back again,
And unto her he gave his chain;
And said, "With us thou shalt remain
Till such time as we die:

"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,
And honoured for my queen;
With thee I mean to lead my life,
As shortly shall be seen:
Our wedding shall appointed be,
And every thing in its degree;
Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,
Thou shalt go shift thee clean.
What is thy name, fair maid?" quoth he.
"Zenelophon, O king," quoth she:
With that she made a low courts-ey,
A trim one as I ween.

Thus hand in hand along they walk
Unto the king's pal-ace:
The king with courteous comely talk
This beggar doth embrace:
The beggar blusheth scarlet red,
And straight again as pale as lead,
But not a word at all she said,
She was in such amaze.
At last she spake with trembling voice
And said, "O king, I do rejoice
That you will take me for your choice,
And my degree's so base."

And when the wedding day was come,
The king commanded straight
The noblemen both all and some
Upon the queen to wait.
And she behaved herself that day,
As if she had never walked the way;
She had forgot her gown of gray,
Which she did wear of late.
The proverb old is come to pass,
The priest, when he begins his mass,
Forgets that ever clerk he was;
He knoweth not his estate.

Here you may read, Cophetua,
Though long time fancy-fed,
Compell-ed by the blinded boy
The beggar for to wed:
He that did lovers' looks disdain,
To do the same was glad and fain,
Or else he would himself have slain,
In story as we read.
Disdain no whit, O lady dear,
But pity now thy servant here,
Lest that it hap to thee this year,
As to that king it did.

And thus they led a quiet life
During their princely reign;
And in a tomb were buried both,
As writers showeth plain.
The lords they took it grievously,
The ladies took it heavily,
The commons cri-ed piteously,
Their death to them was pain.
Their fame did sound so passingly,
That it did pierce the starry sky,
And throughout all the world did fly
To every prince's realm.

TAKE THY OLD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.

This winter's weather it waxeth cold,
And frost doth freeze on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blasts so bold,
That all our cattle are like to spill;
Bell my wife, who loves no strife,
She said unto me quietly,
"Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life;
Man, put thine old cloak about thee."

He.
"O Bell, why dost thou flyte and scorn?
Thou ken'st my cloak is very thin:
It is so bare and overworn
A crick he thereon cannot renn:
Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend,
For once I'll new apparelled be,
To-morrow I'll to town and spend,
For I'll have a new cloak about me."

She.
"Cow Crumbock is a very good cow,
She ha' been always true to the pail,
She's helped us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things she will not fail:
I wad be loth to see her pine,
Good husband, counsel take of me,
It is not for us to go so fine;
Man, take thine old cloak about thee."

He.
"My cloak it was a very good cloak,
It hath been always true to the wear,
But now it is not worth a groat;
I have had it four and forty year:
Sometime it was of cloth in grain,
'Tis now but a sigh-clout, as you may see,
It will neither hold out wind nor rain;
And I'll have a new cloak about me."

She.
"It is four and forty years ago
Since the one of us the other did ken,
And we have had betwixt us two
Of children either nine or ten;
We have brought them up to women and men;
In the fear of God I trow they be;
And why wilt thou thyself misken?
Man, take thine old cloak about thee."

He.
"O Bell my wife, why dost thou flout?
Now is now, and then was then:
Seek now all the world throughout,
Thou ken'st not clowns from gentlemen.
They are clad in black, green, yellow, or gray,
So far above their own degree:
Once in my life I'll do as they,
For I'll have a new cloak about me."

She.
"King Stephen was a worthy peer,
His breeches cost him but a crown,
He held them sixpence all too dear;
Therefore he called the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
And thou's but of a low degree:
It's pride that puts this country down;
Man, take thine old cloak about thee."

He.
Bell my wife she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me if she can;
And oft, to live a quiet life,
I am forced to yield, though I'm good-man;
It's not for a man with a woman to threap,
Unless he first gave o'er the plea:
As we began we now will leave,
And I'll take mine old cloak about me.

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.

A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree;
"O willow, willow, willow!"
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
"O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."

He sighed in his singing, and after each groan,
"Come willow, willow, willow!
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:
O willow, willow, willow!
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"O pity me," cried he, "ye lovers, each one;
O willow, willow, willow!
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my moan.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
"O willow, willow, willow!"
The salt tears fell from him, which drown-ed his face:
"O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."

The mute birds sat by him, made tame by his moans:
"O willow, willow, willow!"
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.
"O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"Let nobody blame me, her scorns I do prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
She was born to be fair; I, to die for her love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!
Sing willow, willow, willow!
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"Let love no more boast him in palace or bower;
O willow, willow, willow!
For women are trothless, and fleet in an hour.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"But what helps complaining? In vain I complain:
O willow, willow, willow!
I must patiently suffer her scorn and disdain.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
O willow, willow, willow!
He that plains of his false love, mine's falser than she.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.

"The willow wreath wear I, since my love did fleet;
O willow, willow, willow!
A garland for lovers forsaken most meet.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."