OH, THE MILLER
 
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Once on a time a miller dwelt beside a running stream
Whose fascinating manners gained unqualified esteem
And opposite a farmer dwelt, who had a daughter fair
And once a week with corn to grind t'the mill she would repair
An old mediaeval custom rules that every pretty miss
Could liquidate the miller's fees by granting him a kiss
So Maggie thought with frugal mind the fees I'll never pay
And oh, for weeks that followed, this was all that she would say.

Chorus: 'Oh, the miller, oh, the miller
I can't forget the miller, what a darling to be sure
Oh, the miller, oh, the miller
I'd like to carry corn up to the mill for evermore.'


For weeks and months she took the corn and came back in a daze
She'd skip and jump unconsciously and sing the miller's praise
Till her mother soon got curious as to how she saved the pelf
'I'm jiggered if I don't find out, and take the corn myself'
She donned her Sunday bonnet, and she looked so trim and smart
With the very best intentions for the mill she made a start
When she returned the farmer said, 'Oh tell me all I pray'
She flung her arms into the air and all that she could say, was

Chorus:

The farmer's wife and daughter too got dreadfully upset
When one said, 'oh' the miller then the other said 'you bet'
Till the farmer cursed the miller with invectives every day
Said he, 'I'll take the corn myself and hear what he's to say'
The miller laughed. The farmer said prepare to wade in gore
But got the biggest licking that he'd ever had before
He lost his clothes and waddled back with plaster on his head
His wife said, 'Do you like him John?' and this is what he said,

Chorus:

To let the miller grind the corn the farmer now was loath
'It's a mercy wife and child' he said 'He didn't kill you both'
'But tell me where he struck you'. Said his daughter with a grin
'He gave us each a lovely smack betwixt the nose and chin'
The moral's this - don't seek to know too much but rather wait
It's woman's own prerogative to charm and fascinate
For goodness sake don't interfere, let women have their way
You can well tell what's the matter if you hear the darlings say,

Chorus:
 
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Performed by G.H. MacDermott (1845-1901)
 
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