Classic Poem

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 my miller's daughter?

II.

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,
Let 'em go from whence they came sir.
What d'ye think of my miller's daughter?

III.

But when the 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,
" Wool be my wife?"
A blusn, and ves, was Betty's answer.
What d'dye think of my miller's daughter?