| | He sayde thou swyneshede a wake | |
| | For cristis soule and here a nobyl game | |
| | For by that lord that callyd is saint Iame | |
| 345 | As I haue thryys in this short nyght | |
| | Swyuyd the mylleris doughter bolt vpright | |
| | Whylis thou hast as a coward be agaste | |
| | Ye false harlot hast thou so hast | |
| | A fals traytour fals clerk quod he | |
| 350 | Thou shalt be ded be goddis dignitee | |
| | Who durste be so bolde to do suche disperage | |
| | To my doughter that is of suche lynage | |
| | And be the throte bolle he caughte aleyn | |
| | And he hente hym dispitously agayn | |
| 355 | And on the nose he smot hym with his fist | |
| | Doun ran the blod vp on his brest | |
| | And in the floor with nose & mouth to broke | |
| | They walowyd as piggis do in a poke | |
| | And vp they goon and doun ayen anon | |
| 360 | Tyl that the Myllere sporned at a stoon | |
| | And doun he fyl bacward on his wyf | |
| | That wiste no thing of this nyce stryf | |
| | For she was falle in slepe a litil wight | |
| | With Iohn the clerk that wakid hath al nyght | |
| 365 | And with the fal out of her slepe she breyd | |
| | Help holy cros of bromehem she sayde | |
| | In manus tuas to the lord I calle | |
| | A wake Symond the feend is on me falle | |
| | Myn herte is brokyn I am but ded | |
| 370 | There lieth on my wombe and on my hed | |
