Lyr Add: The Jolly Miller (from D'Urfey)

Subject: Lyr Add: THE LUSTY MILLER'S RECREATION
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 09:18 PM

Another version of the same story.

From the Bodleian broadside collection, Douce Ballads 2(140b) "between 1672 and 1696":


The Lusty MILLER's Recreation: OR,
The Buxome Female's chief Delight.
Being a most pleasant Design between a certain Miller, The Good-Wife, and her Three Daughters.
A most Delectable New Song, &c.

Fair Peggy first to'th Mill with Grist was sent,
Who pleas'd return'd, but would not tell th'event;
Which Betty once perceiving, needs would go,
Who sped in the same Tune, returned too;
At which the Mother knew not what to guess,
But did her self in admiration bless.

Till Jenny, of the Three the Youngest Lass,
Would needs go see how all this came to pass,
Returns the same; then forth the Mother set,
Who finds the Plot, but ne'r Discover'd it.

To a pleasant New Tune.

The Good-Wife her Daughter did send to the Miller,
  to grind her Grist neatly, and for to come back;
But you little imagine how full he had fill'd her,
  to fill up her Belly as full as her Sack:
And when she came home her Wits were bebrich'd(?),
Her Mother did think she had been bewitch'd;
She ask'd her where she had been loytring all day,
But this was all that the Daughter would say,
Ay! marry Sir, there's a brave Miller indeed.

Quoth Betty to Peggy your Back is all whited,
  what has the Miller done? pray tell me truth;
If you have been wronged, then you shall be righted,
  for I have heard say he's a mad merry Youth:
Said Peggy to Betty your fear is in vain,
For Peggy o'th Miller would never complain;
For what they could do by Night or by Day,
Still this is all that the Daughter would say,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Next morning sweet Betty, fair Peggy's own Sister,
  would venture her Body whatever befell:
But how finely the Miller he hug'd her and kist her,
  that in a while after her Belly did swell:
And for to come back again home she did come,
And stood like an Image both senseless and dumb;
For she being loath for to lose her sweet Play,
This to the Mother the Daughter would say,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Alas! quoth the Woman, my other poor Daughter,
  for she is bewitched as I greatly fear;
But I will take care how I send them hereafter,
  if Millers prove Witches, as it doth appear:
Then Bessy and Peggy come speak your minds freely,
And let not your selves be thus simple and silly,
Yet for what she could do by Night or by Day,
This it was all that the Daughters would say,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Woe's me, crys the Mother, what mean you by this,
  my Daughters pray tell me for fain I would know?
I'faith if you will not I'le find what it is,
  for unto the Miller I mean for to go:
At which up starts Jenny, the younger o'th three,
And said, Nay pray Mother for this time send me,
I'le warrant you that I will find out the knack,
And bring you the meaning of (when I come back)
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Then cries the old Woman once more I will venter, [=venture?
  I know thou art witty, and wilt find no doubt
The meaning of all, so on Horse-back she sent her,
  but when Jenny came there, she long held not out;
But under the Stones with much pleasure she fell,
While the Miller so merrily work'd in her Wheel;
Where she held him tack(?) till her Grist it was ground,
Then home she came jogging, and utter'd this sound,
Ay! marry Sir, there's a fine Miller indeed.

'Tis sure, cries the Mother, my Daughters are mad,
  I'le find out the cause on't whatever betide;
At home you shall stay and abrod no more gad,
  for I to the Miller intend for to Ride:
Go Pannel me Dun now, and make no reply, [=Saddle?
At which Peggy starting, Oh Mother did cry,
(As loath the Old Woman should know of the Game)
Pray go not for fear you bewitch'd sing the same,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Alas my dear Mother, the Miller is wild,
  and if you shou'd go he may do you much harm;
Nay worse, quoth sweet Betty, you chance may be spoil'd,
  for he is Distracted when once he is warm:
A Spirit does haunt him I know it full well,
Which nothing can lay but a Two-legged Spell?
Then shou'd it get power on you I'm afraid,
You'l be bewitch'd so to say as we've said,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Nay Mother, quoth Jenny, they are in the right,
  for he's a mad Miller I needs must declare;
So furious he works that the Stones often smite,
  though the Hopper be fill'd, yet he will not forbear:
But heaps it and thrusts it till all the Cogs move,
Ods-bobs, quoth the Mother, such Millers I love;
Then tell me the cause, or no longer I'le stay,
How he hath bewitch'd you thus onely to say,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Quoth Jenny I'le go and I'le ask him the cause,
  nay soft, quoth sweet Betty, I'm older than you;
'Tis my turn I'le warrant by Birth-right and Laws,
  come, come, hold your prating, qd. Peg, 'tis my due,
For I'le not be rob'd I'm resolv'd of my right,
But the Grist to the Mill I will carry this night;
In vain you design it, unless we go all,
Quoth Jenny, for I'le declare what did befall,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

The Mother observing the strife grow so hot,
  ne'r stay'd for her Pannel, but mounting astride,
By kicking and whipping of Dun she soon got
  to the Millers, who seeing her, took her aside,
And spreading his Sacks, on her back he then lay'd her,
Where in the same Coin on purpose he pay'd her;
While the Stones they run round, and merrily play'd,
Till her Grist was well ground, then returning she said,
Ay! marry Sir, &c.

Then long it was not e're their Bellies did swell,
  Pegg's, Betty's, and Jenny's, the Mothers likewise,
But none of them could be perswaded to tell
  what Champion of Venus 'twas made them to rise;
But still the bold Miller then prais'd for his worth,
Who Tole-free would never let Females come forth,
But labour'd to serve them by night and by day,
While all the brisk Lasses this of him did say,
Ay! marry Sir, there's a fine Miller indeed.

Finis.

Printed for P. Brooksby, in West-smith-field.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Jolly Miller (from D'Urfey)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 08:17 PM

I neglected to mention that Pills (follow my link above) shows the musical notation for the melody line. It starts on page 185. This might not be what McCurdy sang, though.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Jolly Miller (from D'Urfey)
From: Stewart
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 07:44 PM

And the tune here

From John Runge's Collection - Early English Lute Songs and Folk Songs
Hargall Music Press, 1961
2nd vol. p. 14 (melody as sung by Ed. McCurdy)

Cheers, S. in Seattle

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Jolly Miller (from D'Urfey)
From: GUEST,^&*
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 06:00 PM

Ha! Long time since I've had a googlewhack: lericompooped artichoke

Subject: Lyr Add: THE JOLLY MILLER (from D'Urfey)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 05:52 PM

I remember this as one of the songs that Ed McCurdy sang on one of the LPs in his series, "When Dalliance Was in Flower (and Maidens Lost Their Heads)," 1956-1959 (although I didn't learn about them until 1965). McCurdy might have changed the odd word or two, but I'm glad he left in "lericompoop'd" which has probably never appeared anywhere else.

I'm surprised the song has never been posted at Mudcat before.

From Wit and Mirth: or, Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol. 1 by Thomas D'Urfey (London: J. Tonson, 1719), page 186:


THE JOLLY MILLER

The old Wife she sent to the Miller her Daughter,
To grind her Grist quickly, and so return back,
The Miller so work'd it, that in eight Months after
Her Belly was fill'd as full as her Sack;
Young Robin so pleas'd her, that when she came home,
She gap'd like a stuck Pigg, and star'd like a Mome,
She hoyden'd, she scamper'd, she hollow'd and hoop'd,
And all the Day long,
This, this was her Song,
Was ever Maiden so lericompoop'd.

Oh Nelly, cry'd Celie, thy Cloths are all mealy,
Both Backside and Belly are rumpled all o'er,
You moap now and slabber, why what a pox ail you?
I'll go to the Miller, and know all ye Whore:
She went, and the Miller did grinding so ply,
She came cutting Capers a Foot and half high,
She waddled, she stradled, she hollow'd and whoop'd,
And all the Day long,
This, this was her Song,
Hoy, were ever two Sisters so lericompoop'd.

Then Mary o'th' Dairy, a third of the Number,
Wou'd fain know the Cause they so jigg'd it about,
The Miller her Wishes long would not incumber,
But in the old manner the Secret found out.
Thus Celie and Nelly, and Mary the mild,
Were just about Harvest Time all big with Child,
They danc'd in the Hay, they hallow'd and whoop'd,
And all the Day long,
This, this was her Song,
Hoy, were ever three Sisters so lericompoop'd.

And when they were big they did stare at each other,
And crying, Oh Sisters, what shall we now do,
For all our young Bantlings we have but one Father,
And they in one Month will all come to Town too:
O why did we run in such hast to the Mill,
To Robin, who always the Toll Dish would fill,
He bumpt up our Bellies, then hallow'd and whoop'd,
And all the Day long,
This, this was their Song,
Hoy, were ever three Sisters so lericompoop'd.