Four Songs (6)/The Miller of Dron

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see The Miller of Dron.

THE MILLER OF DRON.

There was a miller stout and strong,
Fed up with beef and brose,
With sturdy limbs, and shoulders broad,
As you may well suppose.
This miller was as great a loon
As ever hung a stone;
He took his muter different ways—
This miller liv'd in Dron.

With my heesy, teesy, soft and easy,
Ay the mill gets on;
You may get millers many a one,
But no one like him in Dron.

The fair maid she went to the mill
With corn upon her head,
Says miller set your stones to work,
For we are out of bread.
He took the fair maid in his arms,
And in motion put the stones,
And clitter clatter went the mill,
With a' the graith in Dron.

This fair maid she went springing home,
As yal as yal could be,
If she had been jointed all with springs,
Nae yaller could she be.
She threw the meal pock off her back,
And began to bake a scone;
Of all the millers e'er I saw,
There is none like him in Dron.

The auld wife she gaed to the mill hersel,
With corn upon her head,
Says miller set your mill to work,
For we are out of bread.
Ile took this auld wife in his arms,
In motion put the stones,
And soon he ground the old wife's batch,
Betwixt the mill stones.

The auld wife she went singing home,
As canty as a bee,
Says, daughter put the kettle on,
For we must have some tea.
She threw the meal pock off her back,
And began to dance and croon,
Of all the millers e'er I saw,
There's none like him in Dron.

The auld man he got up at last,
And swore a solemn oath,
That he would next the miller see,
If he had life and breath.
This auld man sought a sturdy stick,
And stoutly he went on
Out o'er the moor, and thro' the croft,
Unto the mill of Dron.

The auld man he went to the mill
With corn upon his head,
Says miller set your stones to work,
For we are out of bread.
He says there is not much o't,
And good potatoe corn;
And if it be not ground to-night.
We'll all be dead the morn.

The miller brought a sturdy stick,
And stoutly he laid on;
And soon he made the old man rue
That e'er he came to Dron.
The old man he went toddling home,
As supple as he dought,
And ay he muttered to himsel,
This meal is dearly bought.

At length the old man he came in,
With many a sigh and moan;
I have seen millers many a one,
But none like him in Dron.
He threw the meal pock off his back,
With many an aching bone;
Of all the millers e'er I saw,
There's none like him in Dron.

The mother look'd, the daughter blush'd,
They look'd at one another;
The mother look'd, the daughter blush'd,
And glow'rd at one another.
At length the daughter clapp'd her hands,
And swore that by St. John,
The rogue has kiss'd my father too,
Within the mill of Dron.