Old Morton, the Miller.
Old Morton, the miller, was turned of threescore,
Yet he laughed with a feeling of pride,
As he thought he had only to wait one week more,
And young Patty would then be his bride;
He had spoken her parents, they gave their consent,
For old Morton, the miller, had gold;
How often have parents to sigh and repent.
Over some young warm heart they have sold!
Old men, old men, list to my lay,
Hearts like young Patty's are given away;
Old men, old men, need ye be told,
Cupid, sly urchin, but laughs at your gold!
Poor Patty, once cheerful, light-hearted and gay,
Now lonely, dejected, and pale,
As she ever had been since a youth went away,
Whose death she was taught to bewail;
But the Fates, predetermined these two should not part,
With glory her soldier brought back;
She gave to her hero her hand and her heart,
And gave Morton, the miller, the sack.
Old men, old men, list to my lay, &c.
In making our arrangements to live, we should never forget that we have also to die.
