The Reue ·In to the trogh / that sal be my desportFor Iohn in faith / I may been of youre sortI is as ille a Millere / as ar ye¶ This Millere / smyled of hir nyceteeAnd thoghte / al this nys doon / but for a wyleThey wene / þᵗat no man may hem bigileBut by my thrift / yet shal I blere hir IyeFor al the sleighte / in hir PhislophyeThe moore queynte crekys / þᵗat they makeThe moore wol I stele / whan I takeIn stede of flour / yet wol I yeue hem brenThe grettest clerkes / been noght the wisest menAs whilom to the wolf thus spak the mareOf al hir art counte I noght a tareOut of the dore / he gooth ful pryuelyWhan þᵗat he saugh his tyme / softelyHe looketh vp and doun / til he hath foundeThe clerkes hors / ther as as it stood yboundeBihynde the Mille / vnder a leefselAnd to the hors / he gooth hym faire and welHe strepeth of the bridel / right anonAnd whan the hors was laus / he gynneth gonToward the fen / ther wilde mares renneAnd forth with wehe / thurgh thikke and thenneThis Millere gooth ayein / no word he seydeBut dooth his note / and with the clerkes pleydeTil þᵗat hir corn / was faire and wel ygroundeAnd whan the mele / was sakked and ybounde¶ This Iohn gooth out and fynt his hors awayAnd gan to crye / harrow and weilawayOure hors is lost · Alayn for goddes banesStep on thy feet / com of man al atanesAllas oure wardeyn / has his palfrey lorn¶ This Alayn al forgat bothe mele and cornAl was out of his mynde / his housbondryeWhat whilk wey is he gane / he gan to crye¶ The wyf cam lepyng Inward with a renShe seyde allas / youre hors gooth to the fenWith wilde mares / as faste as he may goVnthank come on his hand / þᵗat boond hym so