Into the trough--and that shall be my sport.
For, John, like you, I'm of the curious sort;
And quite as bad a miller--so let's see!"

This Miller smiled at their 'cute nicety,
And thought,--all this is done but for a wile;
They fancy that no man can them beguile:
But, by my thrift, I'll dust their searching eye,
For all the sleights in their philosophy.
The more quaint knacks and guarded plans they make,
The more corn will I steal when once I take:
Instead of flour, I'll leave them nought but bran:
The greatest clerks are not the wisest men.
As whilom to the wolf thus spake the mare:
Of all their art I do not count a tare.

Out at the door he goeth full privily,
When that he saw his time, and noiselessly:
He looketh up and down, till he hath found
The clerks' bay horse, where he was standing bound
Under an ivy wall, behind the mill:
And to the horse he goeth him fair and well,
And strippeth off the bridle in a trice.

And when the horse was loose he 'gan to race
Unto the wild mares wandering in the fen,
With WEHEE! WHINNY! right through thick and thin!
This Miller then returned; no word he said,
But doth his work, and with these clerks he played,
Till that their corn was well and fairly ground.