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First the Justice, then the Sherife,
And the Mayre of Carlile town;
Of all the constables and catchipoles
Alive were scant left one.
The haylies and the bedels both,
And serjeants of the law,
And forty fosters of the fell,
These outlaws had yslaw:
And broke his parkes, and slew his deer,
Of all they chose the best,
So perelous outlaws as they were
Walked not by east nor west.
When the King this letter had read,
In his heart he sighed sore;
Take up the tables, anone he bade.
For I may eat no more.
The King called his best archers,
To the butts with him to go;
I will see these fellows shoot, he said,
In the north have wrought this wo.
The King’s bowmen busk them belyve,
And the Queen’s archers also,
So did these three wyghtye yeomen,
With them they thought to go.
There twice or thrice they shot about,
For to assay their hand;
There was no shot these yeomen shot
That any prycke might stand.
Then spoke William of Cloudeslie,
By him that for me died,
I hold him never a good archer
That shooteth at butts so wide.
