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The miller by a clean hearth-ſtane,
beſide a ranting fire,
He ſits and cracks and tells his tale,
o'er ale that is right nappy;
Who'd be a Queen that gaudy thing,
when a miller's wife's fae happy.
WHEN LATE I WANDER'D.
WHen late I wander'd o'er the plain,
From nymph to nymph I ſtrove in vain,
My wild defires to rally, to rally,
My wild deſires to ral--ly:
But now they're of themſelves. come home,
And ſtrange! no longer wiſh to roam,
They centre all in Sally, in Sally,
They centre all in Sally.
Yet ſhe, unkind one, damps my joy,
And cries, I court but to deſtroy,
Can love with ruin tally, ruin tally &c.
By thoſe dear lips, thoſe eyes, I ſwear,
I wou'd all deaths, all torments bear.
Rather than injure, Sally, injure Sally, &c
Come then, Oh come, thou ſweeter far
Than violets and roſes are:
Or lillies of the valley the valley, &c.
O follow love, and quit your fear,
He'll guide you to theſe arms my dear,
And make me bleſt in Sally, in Sally, &c
GLASGOW, Printed by J. & M. Robertſon, Saltmarket, 1803
