Many a strong man with him was,
There in that stour to stand.

The Mayor smote Cloudeslie with his bill,
His buckler he burst in two;
Full many a yeoman with great ill,
"Alas! treason!" they cried for woe.
"Keep we the gat-es fast," they bade,
"That these traitors thereout not go!"

But all for nought was that they wrought,
For so fast they down were laid,
Till they all three that so manfully fought,
Were gotten without at a braid.
"Have here your keys," said Adam Bell,
"Mine office I here forsake;
If you do by my coun-sel,
A new port-er do ye make."

He threw the keys there at their heads,
And bade them evil to thrive,
And all that letteth any good yeo-man
To come and comfort his wife.
Thus be these good yeomen gone to the wood,
As light as leaf on linde;
They laugh and be merry in their mood,
Their en'mies were far behind.

When they came to Inglewood,
Under their trysting tree,