THE MILLER.
O merry may the maid be,
That marries the miller,
For foul day and fair day,
He's aye bringing till her,
He’s aye a penny in his pouch,
For dinner and for supper,
And gin she please a good fat cheese
And lumps o’ yellow butter.
That marries the miller,
For foul day and fair day,
He's aye bringing till her,
He’s aye a penny in his pouch,
For dinner and for supper,
And gin she please a good fat cheese
And lumps o’ yellow butter.
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 standing in the byre,
Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse
Was playing at the fire.
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 standing in the byre,
Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse
Was playing at the fire.
Good signs are these my mither
And bids me tak the miller, [says
For foul day and fair day,
He’s aye bringing till her.
For meal and malt she does na want,
Nor ony thing thas’s dainty,
And now and then a keckling hen,
To lay her eggs in plenty.
And bids me tak the miller, [says
For foul day and fair day,
He’s aye bringing till her.
For meal and malt she does na want,
Nor ony thing thas’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 fu’ nappy,
Who’d be a king—a petty thing,
When a miller lives so happy.
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 fu’ nappy,
Who’d be a king—a petty thing,
When a miller lives so happy.