THE MILLER's DAUGHTER

There was a miller's daughter Liv'd in a certain village, Who made a mighty slaughter:— For I'd have you to know, Both friend and foe, The clown and the beau, She always laid low; And her portion, as I understand, Was three acres of land, Besides a mill, That never stood still, Some sheep and a cow, A harrow and plough, And other things for tillage:— What d'ye think of the miller's daughter?

This miller's pretty daughter Was a damsel of such fame, sir, That knights and squires sought her; But they soon were told That some were too bold, And some too cold, And some too old; And she gave them to understand That, though they were grand, She'd never be sold: For says Betty, says she, ' Since my virtue to me ' Is dearer than gold, ' You may go from whence you came, sir.' What d'ye think of my miller's daughter.

But when this miller's daughter Saw Ned, the morrice dancer, His person quickly caught her; For who so clean Upon the green, As Ned was seen, For her his queen:— Then blithe as a king, His bells he'd ring, And dance, and sing, Like any thing:— Says he, 'My life, ' Woot be my wife?' A blush, and yes, was Betty's answer. What d'ye think of my miller's daughter?