As they sat in Englyshe-wood,
Under the green-wode tre,
They thought they heard a woman wepe,
But her they mought not se.
Sore then syghed the fayre Alyce:
"That ever I sawe thys day!
For nowe is my dere husband slayne:
Alas! and wel-a-way!
"Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren,
Or with eyther of them twayne,
To show them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne."
Cloudeslè walked a lytle beside,
He looked under the grene wood lynde,
He was ware of his wife, and chyldren three,
Full wo in harte and mynde.
"Welcome, wyfe," then sayde Wyllyam,
"Under this trusti tre:
I had wende yesterday, by sweete saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never have se."
"Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo."
"Dame," he sayde, "be mery and glad,
And thanke my brethren two.
"Herof to speake," said Adam Bell,
"I-wis it is no bote:
The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote."
Then went they downe ìnto a launde,
These noble archares all thre;
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
The best that they cold se.
"Have here the best, Alyce, my wyfe,"
Sayde Wyllyam of Cloudeslye;
"By cause ye so bouldly stode by me
When I was slayne full nye."
Then went they to suppere
Wyth suche meate as they had;
And thanked God of ther fortune:
They were both mery and glad.
And when they had supped well,
Certayne withouten lease,
Cloudeslè sayd, "We wyll to our kyng,
To get us a charter of peace.