XCIX
Sore syghèd there fayre Alyce, and sayd
‘That ever I sawe thys day!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne:
Alas! and wel-a-waye!
C
‘Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To show to them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.’
CI
Cloudesley walked a lytle beside,
Looked under the grene wood lynde,
He was ware of his wife and chyldren three,
Full wo in herte and mynde.
CII
‘Welcome, wyfe,’ then sayde Wyllyam,
‘Under this trysty tre:
I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never have se.’—
CIII
‘Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo.’—
‘Dame,’ he sayde, ‘be mery of chere,
And thanke my brethren two.’