Merry the maid be

Merry the maid be
That marries the miller,
For foul day and fair day
He’s aye bringing till her;
Has aye a penny in his purse
For dinner and for supper;
And, gin she please, a good fat cheese,
And lumps of yellow butter.

When Jamie first did woo me,
I spier’d what was his calling;
Fair maid, says he, come and see,
Ye’re welcome to my dwelling:
Though I was shy, yet I cou’d spy
The truth of what he told me,
And that his house was warm and couth,
And room in it to hold me.

Behind the door a bag of meal,
And in the kist was plenty
Of good hard cakes his mither bakes,
And bannocks were na scanty;
A good fat sow, a sleeky cow
Was standin’ in the byre;
Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse
Was playing at the fire.

Good signs are these, my mither says,
And bids me tak’ the miller;
For foul day and fair day
He’s aye bringing till her;
For meal and malt she does na want,
Nor ony thing that’s dainty;
And now and then a keckling hen
To lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter when the wind and rain
Blaws o’er the house and byre,
The miller on a good hearth stane
Before 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 sae happy?

From The Goldfinch, or New Modern Songster (Glasgow, 1783)