The Miller

O Merry may the maid be
That marries with the miller
For foul day and fair day
He's ay bringing till her
Has ay a penny in his purse
For dinner and for supper:
And gin he please a good fat cheese
And lumps of yellow butter.

When Jamie first did woo me,
I speir'd what was his calling;
Fair maid says he, O come and see,
You're welcome to my dwalling;
Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy
The truth of what he told me
And that his house was warm and couth
And room in it to hold me.

Behind the door a bag of meal
And in the kist was plenty,
Of good hard cakes his mither bakes,
And bannocks were na scanty;
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow
Was standin in the byre,
Whilst lazy pouss with mealy mouse
Was playing at the fire.

Good signs are these, my mither says,
And bids me tak the miller;
For foul day and fair day
He's ay bringing till her;
For meal and malt she does na want,
Nor ony thing that's dainty;
And now and then a keckling hen
To lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter when the wind and rain
Blaws o'er the house and byre,
He sits beside a clean hearth stane
Before a rousing fire;
With nut-brown ale he tells his tale
Which rows him o'er fou nappy
Who'd be a king, a petty thing
When a miller lives so happy.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin