‘Here commeth none in,’ sayd the porter,
‘By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hangèd,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudesley.’
LX
Then spake the good yeman, Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
‘And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hangèd shalt thou be.
LXI
‘Lo! here we have got the Kynge’s seale:
What, lordane[673], art thou wode[674]?’
The porter wende[675] it had ben so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
LXII
‘Welcome is my lordes seale,’ he saide;
‘For that ye shall come in.’
He opened the gate right shortlye:
An evyl openyng for him!
LXIII
‘Now are we in,’ sayde Adam Bell,
‘Wherof we are full faine;
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall come out agayne.’