| |
| O MERRY may the maid be | |
| That marries wi’ the miller, | |
| For, foul day and fair day, | |
| He’s aye bringing till her,— | |
| Has aye a penny in his purse | 5 |
| For dinner or for supper; | |
| And, gin she please, a good fat cheese | |
| And lumps of yellow butter. | |
| |
| When Jamie first did woo me | |
| I speir’d what was his calling; | 10 |
| ‘Fair maid,’ says he, ‘O come and see, | |
| Ye’re welcome to my dwalling,’ | |
| Though I was shy, yet could I spy | |
| The truth o’ what he told me, | |
| And that his house was warm and couth, | 15 |
| And room in it to hold me. | |
| |
| Behind the door a bag o’ meal, | |
| And in the kist was plenty | |
| O’ guid hard cakes his mither bakes, | |
| And bannocks werena scanty. | 20 |
| A guid fat sow, a sleeky cow | |
| Was standing in the byre, | |
| Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse | |
| Was playing at the fire. | |
| |
| Guid signs are these, my mither says, | 25 |
| And bids me tak’ the miller; | |
| For, foul day and fair day, | |
| He’s aye bringing till her: | |
| For meal and maut she doesna want, | |
| Nor anything that’s dainty; | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| Before a rousing fire. | |
| With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, | |
| Which rows him o’er fu’ nappy:— | |
| Wha’d be a king—a petty thing, | |
| When a miller lives so happy? | 40 |
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