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The Mayor came armed, a full pace,
With poll-ax in his hand;
Many a strong man with him was,
Within a stance to stand,
The Mayor smote Cloudeslie with his bill,
His buckler burst in two;
(illegible text)ll many a yeoman with great ill,
They cry'd, for woe.
Keep we the gates hard fast they bade,
These traitors let not go;
But all for nought was what they wrought,
For so fast down they laid,
⟨Will⟩ they three that manfully fought,
Were got out of braide.
Here are our keys, said Adam Bell,
Mine office I forsake;
And if you do buy my counsel,
A porter do you make.
He threw the keys full at their heads,
Bidding evil to thrive,
And all that lets a good yeoman,
To come comfort his wife.
Thus these yeoman are gone to the wood,
Under the trusty tree;
They laugh’d, were merry in their mood,
Their enemies were free.
When they came to the English wood,
Under the trusty tree;
There they found bows strong full as good,
