forgot, both meal and corn; All was out of his mind his husbandry: “What, which way is he gone?” he gan to cry. The wife came leaping inward at a renne, She said; “Alas! your horse went to the fen With wildë mares, as fast as he could go. Unthank come on his hand that bound him so, And his that better should have knit the rein.” “Alas!” quoth John, “Alein, for Christë’s pain Lay down thy sword, and I shall mine also. I is full wight, God wate, as is a roe. By Goddë’s soul he shall not scape us bathe. Why n’ had thou put the capel in the lathe? Ill hail, Alein, by God thou is a fonne.” These silly clerkës have full fast y-run Toward the fen, both Alein and eke John; And when the miller saw that they were gone, He half a bushel of their flour did take, And bade his wife go knead it in a cake. He said; “I trow, the clerkës were afeard, Yet can a miller make a clerkë’s beard, For all his art: yea, let them go their way! Lo where they go! yea, let the children play: They get him not so lightly, by my crown.” These silly clerkës runnen up and down With “Keep, keep; stand, stand; jossa, warderere. Go whistle thou, and I shall keep him here.” But shortly, till that it was very night They couldë not, though they did all their might, Their capel catch, he ran alway so fast: Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.
Weary and wet, as beastës in the rain, Comes silly John, and with him comes Alein. “Alas,” quoth John, “the day that I was born! Now are we driv’n till hething and till scorn. Our corn is stol’n, men will us fonnës call, Both the wardén, and eke our fellows all, And namëly the miller, well-away!” Thus plained John, as he went by the way Toward the mill, and Bayard in his hand. The miller sitting by the fire he fand. For it was night, and forther might they not, But for the love of God they him besought Of herberow and easë, for their penny. The miller said again, “If there be any, Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part. Mine house is strait, but ye have learned art; Ye can by arguments maken a place A milë broad, of twenty foot of space. Let see now if this placë may suffice, Or make it room with speech, as is your guise.” “Now, Simon,” said this John, “by Saint Cuthberd Aye is thou merry, and that is fair answér’d. I