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, 1287 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, 1288 warderere. Go whistle thou, and I shall keep 1289 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.