The Canterbury Tales: The Reeve's Tale
'Of al hir art ne counte I noght a tare.'
He seyde, 'I trowe the clerkes were aferd
Yet kan a millere make a clerkes berd,
For al his art; now lat hem goon hir weye!'
(241 – 243)
'Alas,' quod John, 'the day that I was born!
Now are we dryve til hethyng and til scorn.
Our corn is stoln, men wil us fooles calle,
Bathe the wardeyn and oure felawes alle,
And namely the miller, weylawey!'
(255 – 259)