Let us saye we be messengers,
Streyght come nowe from our king."
Adam said, "I have a letter written,
Now let us wysely werke,
We wyl saye we have the kynges seale;
I holde the porter no clerke."
Then Adam Bell bete on the gates
With strokes great and stronge:
The porter marveiled, who was therat,
And to the gates he thronge.
"Who is there now," sayde the porter,
"That maketh all thys knockinge?"
"We be tow messengers," quoth Clim of the Clough,
"Be come ryght from our kyng."
"We have a letter," sayd Adam Bel,
"To the justice we must itt bryng;
Let us in our message to do,
That we were agayne to the kyng."
"Here commeth none in," sayd the porter,
"By hym that dyed on a tre,
Tyll a false thefe be hanged,
Called Wyllyam of Cloudeslè."
Then spake the good yeman Clym of the Clough,
And swore by Mary fre,
"And if that we stande long wythout,
Lyke a thefe hanged shalt thou be.
"Lo here we have the kyngès seale:
What, lurden, art thou wode?
The porter went[5] it had been so,
And lyghtly dyd off hys hode.
"Welcome is my lordes seale," he saide;
"For that ye shall come in."
He opened the gate full shortlye:
An euyl openyng for him.
"Now are we in," sayde Adam Bell,
"Wherof we are full faine;
But Christ he knowes, that harowed hell,
How we shall com out agayne."
"Had we the keys," said Clim of the Clough,
"Ryght wel then shoulde we spede,
Then might we come out wel ynough
When we se tyme and nede."
They called the porter to counsell,
And wrang his necke in two,