And bound thereto his eldest sonne,
And bad hym stand styll thereat;
And turned the childes face him fro,
Because he should not start.240
An apple upon his head he set,
And then his bowe he bent:
Syxe score paces they were meaten,[777]
And thether Cloudeslè went.
There he drew out a fayr brode arrowe,245
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 'all still wold' stand,250
For he that shoteth for such a wager,
Behoveth a stedfast hand.[778]
Muche people prayed for Cloudeslè,
That his lyfe saved myght be,
And whan he made hym redy to shote,255
There was many weeping ee.
'But' Cloudeslè clefte the apple in two,
'His sonne he did not nee.'[779]
Over Gods forbode, sayde the kinge,
That thou shold shote at me.260
I geve thee eightene pence a day,
And my bowe shalt thou bere,
And over all the north countrè
I make the chyfe rydère.[780]
And I thyrtene pence a day, said the quene,[781]265
By God, and by my fay;[782]
Come feche thy payment when thou wylt,
No man shall say the nay.
Wyllyam, I make the a gentleman
Of clothyng, and of fe:270
And thy two brethren, yemen of my chambre,
For they are so semely to se.
Your sonne, for he is tendre of age,
Of my wyne-seller he shall be;
And when he commeth to mans estate,275
Better avaunced shall he be.