1^2. _var. in MS._ There was a knicht and he loved them bath. 7. _The following stanza was subsequently written on an opposite blank page,--perhaps derived from #D# 8_: Foul fa the hand that I wad take, To twin me and my warld's make. 10^2. _~a~ was, perhaps, meant to be expunged, but is only a little blotted._ 11^2. _var._ a lady or a milk-white swan. 12, 13 _were written in later than the rest; at the same time, apparently, as the stanza above (7)._ #K.# _Found among Mr Kinloch's papers by Mr Macmath, and inserted by him as a note on p. 59, vol. II, of Kinloch's MSS. The order of the stanzas is there, wrongly, inverted._ 1^2. _var._ I wad give you. #L. a.# _These fragments were communicated to Notes and Queries, April 3, 1852, by "~G. A. C.~," who had heard '~The Miller's Melody~' sung by an old lady in his childhood, and who represents himself as probably the last survivor of those who had enjoyed the privilege of listening to her ballads. We may, therefore, assign this version to the latter part of the 18th century. The two four-line stanzas were sung to "~a slow, quaint strain~." Two others which followed were not remembered, "~but their purport was that the body 'stopped hard by a miller's mill,' and that this 'miller chanced to come by,' and took it out of the water 'to make a melodye.'~" G.A.C. goes on to say_: "My venerable friend's tune here became a more lively one, and the time quicker; but I can only recollect a few of the couplets, and these not correctly nor in order of sequence, in which the transformation of the lady into a viol is described." #b.# _Some stanzas of this four-line version, with a ludicrous modern supplement, are given in '~The Scouring of the White Horse~,' p. 161, as from the Welsh marshes. Five out of the first six verses are there said to be very old indeed, "~the rest all patchwork by different hands~." Mr Hughes has kindly informed me that he derived the ballad from his father, who had originally learned it at Ruthyn when a boy. What is material here follows_: 1 O it was not a pheasant cock, Nor yet a pheasant hen, But O it was a lady fair Came swimming down the stream. 2 An ancient harper passing by Found this poor lady's body, To which his pains he did apply To make a sweet melódy. 3 To cat-gut dried he her inside, He drew out her back-bone, And made thereof a fiddle sweet All for to play upon.