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HONEST MILLER OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
A TRUE BALLAD.
Of all the callings and the trades
Which in our land abound,
As can on earth be found.
The lord or squire of high degree
Is needful to the state,
In farms both small and great.
The farmer, he manures the land,
The ploughman cuts the furrow deep
And though no wealth he has, except
The labor of his hands,
As houses or as lands.
The thresher, he is useful too
To all who like to eat;
The chaff would spoil the wheat.
But vain the squire's and farmer's care,
And vain the thresher's toil;
Who harrows up the soil;
And vain, without the miller's aid,
Then sure an honest miller, he
And such a miller now I make
The subject of my song,
Shall not be very long.
This miller lives in Glo'stershire:
I shall not tell his name;
Desire no other fame.
In last hard winter—who forgets
The frost of ninety-five ?— Then was all dismal, scarce, and dear,
And no poor man coold thrive.
Then husbandry long time stood still,
And work was at a stand;
Were froze throughout the land.
Our miller dwelt beside a stream,
All underneath the hill; Which flowed amain when others froze,
Nor ever stopped the mill.
The clam'rous people came from far
This favored miU to find;
For none but he could grind.
His neighbors cried, "Now, miller, seize
The time to heap up store, Since thou of young and helpless babes
Hast got full half a score."
For folks, when tempted to grow rich,
By means not over nice,
To sanctify the vice.
Our miller scorned such counsel base;
And when he ground the grain,
Beyond his lawful gain.
"When God afflicts the land," said hej
"Shall I afflict it more?
To wrong both rich and poor?
"Thankful to that Almighty Power
I'll use the means he gives to soothe
"My river flows when others freeze,
But 'tis at his command;
No bribe shall stain my hand!"
So all the country who had corn
May every village in the land
A NEW SONG TO AN OLD STORY. PROPER TO BE SUSG AT ALL FEASTS AND MERRY MEETINGS
There was a heathen man, sir,
Belonging to a king;
To covet every thing.
And if you don't believe me,
For let me not deceive ye,
He thought that jolly living
His heart knew no misgiving,
He wanted to be great, sir,
And have his feasts in state, sir,
The king, to cure his longing,
That all the court were thronging
And there, to tempt his eye, sir,
And when he was a-dry, sir,
Nor did the king forbid him
The monarch never chid him,
O then to see the pleasure
'Twas joy beyond all measure:
With greedy eyes the squire
You'd think he did aspire
But, just as he prepared, sir,
O, how the man was scared, sir,
When he to eat intended,
He spied a sword suspended
How did it change the feasting
To think, while he was tasting,
Then in a moment's time, sir,
He loathed the luscious feast; And dreaded as a crime, sir, The brimming bowl to taste.
Now, if you're for applying
The story I have told,
'Tis worth its weight in gold.
Ye gay, who view this stranger,
And pity his sad case;
In such a fearful place;
Come, let this awful truth, sir,
To each intemperate youth, sir,
And though you see no reason
In some licentious season
So learn, while, at your ease, sir,
To think of Damocles, sir,