CXIX
‘Be ye those theves,’ then sayd our Kynge,
‘That men have tolde of to me?
Here to God I make an avowe,
Ye shal be hangèd al thre.
CXX
‘Ye shal be dead without mercỳ,
As I am Kynge of this lande.’
He commanded his officers everich-one,
Fast on them to lay hande.
CXXI
There they toke these good yemen,
And arested them al thre:
‘So may I thryve,’ sayd Adam Bell,
‘Thys game lyketh not me!
CXXII
‘But, good lorde, we beseche you then,
That yee graunt us grace,
Insomuche as we be to you comen,
Or else we may fro you passe,
CXXIII
‘With such weapons as we have here,
Tyll we be out of your place;
And yf we lyve this hundred yere,
We wyll aske you no grace.’