CXXXIX

Fyrst the Justice, and the Sheryfe,
And the Mayre of Carleile towne;
Of all the constables and catchipolles
Alyve were scant left one:

CXL

The baylyes, and the bedyls both,
And the sergeauntes of the law,
And forty fosters of the fe[699],
These outlawes had y-slaw;

CXLI

And broke his parks, and slayne his dere;
Of all they chose the best;
So perèlous out-lawes as they were
Walked not by easte nor west.

CXLII

When the Kynge this letter had red,
In hys herte he syghèd sore:
‘Take up the tables,’ anone he bad,
‘For I may eat no more.’

CXLIII

The Kynge callèd hys best archars
To the buttes[700] wyth hym to go:
‘I wyll se these felowes shote,’ he sayd,
‘In the north have wrought this wo.’