Right at the entree / of the dore bihyndeThow shalt a Cake / of half a busshel fyndeThat was ymaked / of thyn owene meleWhich þᵗat I heelp / my sire for to steleAnd good lemman / god thee saue and kepeAnd with that word / almoost he gan to wepe¶ Aleyn vp rist and thoghte er þᵗat it daweI wol go crepen In / by my felaweAnd fond the Cradel / with his hond anonBy god thoghte he / al wrang I haue mysgonMyn heed is toty / of my swynk to nyghtThat maketh me / þᵗat I go noght arightI woot wel by the Cradel / I haue mysgoHere lyth the Millere / and his wyf alsoAnd forth he gooth / on twenty deuelewayVn to the bed / ther as the Millere layHe wende haue cropen / by his felawe IohnAnd by the Millere / In he creep anoonAnd caughte hym by the nekke / and softe he spakHe seyde thou Iohn / thow Swyneshed awakFor cristes saule / and here a noble gameFor by that lord / þᵗat called is Seint IameAs I haue thries / in this shorte nyghtSwyued the Milleris doghter / bolt vp rightWhil thow hast as a coward been agast¶ Ye false harlot quod the Millere hastA false traytour / false clerk quod heThou shalt be deed / by goddes dignyteeWho dorste be so bold / to disparageMy doghter / that is come of swich lynageAnd by the throte bolle / he caughte AlaynAnd he hente hym / despitously agaynAnd on the nose / he smoot hym with his festDoun ran the blody streem / vp on his brestAnd on the floor / with nose and mouth tobrokeThey walwen / as doon two pigges in a pokeAnd vp they goon / and doun agayn anoonTil þᵗat the Millere / sporned on a stoonAnd doun he fil / bakward vp on his wyfThat wiste no thyng of this nyce stryf