"Goodman Miller, I pray, Believe what I say,-- For, as surely as thou art a sinner,-- Since the break of the morn I have wandered forlorn, And have neither had breakfast nor dinner!" O the Miller looked sad, And cried, "Good lack, my lad! But ye tell me a dolorous ditty!-- And ye seem in sad plight To travel to-night:-- The sight o' ye stirs up one's pity! "Go straight to my cot, And beg something that's hot,-- For ye look very haggard and hollow:-- The storm's nearly o'er; I will not grind much more,-- And when I have done, I will follow. "Keep by the brook-side! The path is not wide-- But ye cannot soon stray, if ye mind it;-- At the foot of the hill, Half a mile from the mill, Stands my cottage:--ye can't fail to find it." Then out the lad set, All dripping with wet,-- But the skies around him seemed brighter; And he went gaily on,-- For his burthen was gone,-- And his heart in his bosom danced lighter. Adown by the brook His travel he took, And soon raught the Miller's snug dwelling;-- But, what he saw ere He was admitted there-- By Saint Bridget!--I must not be telling! Thus much I may say-- That the cot was of clay, And the light was through wind-cracks ejected; And he placed close his eye, And peeped in, so sly,-- And saw--what he never expected! O the lad 'gan to fear That the Miller would appear,-- And, to him, this strange sight would be vexing; So he, first, sharply coughed, And, then, knocked very soft,-- Lest his summons should be too perplexing. But, I scorn to think harm!-- So pass by all alarm, And trembling, and bustle, and terror, Occasioned within: The first stone at sin Let him cast who, himself, hath no error! In inquisitive mood, The eaves-dropper stood, By the wind-cracks still keeping his station; Till, half-choked with fear, A voice cried, "Who's there?"-- Cried the beggar, "Mary grant ye salvation!-- "I'm a poor beggar-lad, Very hungry and sad, Who have travelled in rain and in thunder; I am soaked, through and through"-- Cried the voice, "Perhaps 'tis true-- But who's likely to help thee, I wonder? "Here's a strange time of night To put folk in a fright, By waking them up from their bolsters!-- Honest folk, by Saint Paul! Abroad never crawl, At the gloom-hour of night--when the owl stirs!" But the Miller now came, And, hearing his dame So sharply the beggar-lad scolding, Said, "Open, sweet Joan! And I'll tell thee, anon,-- When thy brown cheek, once more, I'm beholding, "Why this poor lad is found So late on our ground-- Haste, my pigeon!--for here there's hard bedding!"-- So the door was unbarred;-- But the wife she frowned hard, As the lad, by the door, thrust his head in.