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And vain would be the ploughman’s pain
Who harrows up the soil:
In vain, without the miller’s aid,
The sowing and the dressing:
Then lure an honest miller he
Must be a public blessing.
And such a miller now I make
The subject of my long;
Which though it shall be very true,
Shall not be very long.
This miller lives in Glou’stershire;
I shall not tell his name;
For those who seek the praise of God,
Desire no other fame.
In Lift hard winter—who forgets
The frost of ninety-five?
Then all was dismal, scarce, and dear;
And no poor man could thrive
Then husbandry long time stood still
And work was at a stand:
To make the matter worse, the mills
Were froze throughout the land.
