 The Reue For she was falle aslepe / a litel wightWith Iohn the clerk / that waked hadde al nyghtAnd with the fal / out of hir sleep̄e she braydeHelp holy cros of Bromholm / she saydeIn manus tuas / lord to thee I calleAwake Symond / the feend is on me falleMyn herte is broken / help I nam but dedTher lyth oon vp on my wombe / and vp myn hedHelp Symkyn / for the false clerkes fighte¶ This Iohn sterte vp / as faste as eủere he myghteAnd graspeth by the walles / to and froTo fynde a staf / and she sterte vp alsoAnd knew the estres / bet than dide this IohnAnd by the wal / a staf she foond anonAnd saugh / a litel shymeryng of a lightFor at an hole / in shoon the moone brightAnd by that light she saugh hem bothe twoBut sikerly / she nyste who was whoBut as she saugh / a whit thyng in hir IyeAnd whan she gan / this white thyng espyeShe wende the clerk hadde wered a voluperAnd with the staf / she drow ay ner and nerAnd wende han hit / this Aleyn atte fulleAnd smoot the Millere / on the piled skulleThat doun he gooth / and cryde harrow I dyeThise clerkes bette hym wel / and lete hym lyeAnd greithen hem / and tooke hir hors anonAnd eek hir mele / and on hir wey they gonAnd at the Mille / yet they toke hir cakeOf half a busshel flour / ful wel ybake¶ Thus is the proude Millere / wel ybeteAnd hath ylost the gryndyng of the wheteAnd payed for the souper / euerydelOf Aleyn / and of Iohn / that bette hym welHis wyf is swyued / and his doghter alsLo which it is / a Miller̉e to be falsAnd ther fore this ꝓprouerbe / is seyd ful soothHym thar nat wene wel / þᵗat yuele doothA gilour shal hym self / bigiled beAnd god / that sitteth heighe in magestee