Grist ground at Last.  
OR, The Frolic in the Mill.  
Miller's that grind each pretty Lasses Grist,  
Consider now how many you have kissed:  
And see if any with kind Molly can  
Compare: if not, pray all from hence be gone.  
Yet stay and hear the Song, 'tis rare and new;  
And Millers know such things are often true.  
Tune of, Give ear a while, etc. or, Winchester Wedding.  
 
 

GIve ear a while to my Ditty,  
all you that intent to be merry  
I'll sing you a song that's witty  
of which you will never be wear●  
The matter I plain must tell ye,  
is of a conceit refined,  
The pretty device of M●lly,  
who has so often been kind:  

Says old Simon the King,  
says old Simon the King,  
With a threadbare Cloak and a mamsy Nose,  
sing hay ding, ding, a ding, ding.    

She went to the Mill with her Grist,  
to see it most neatly ground,  
But found the Miller i' th' Mist,  
for his stones they would not go round.  
He tried, and he tried again,  
but he could not make them obey;  
His labour he lost in vain,  
and could not tell what to say:  

Says old Simon the King,  
says old Simon the King,  
With a threadbare Cloak and a mamsy nose,  
sing hay ding, ding, a ding, ding.    
 
 

She takes the matter in hand  
as loathe of any delay,  
Whilst the Miller amazed did stand,  
she thus unto him did say:  
Come hoist up the Canvas with speed,  
and I'll make the Stones go round;  
The Clogs from Cobwebs once freed,  
my Grist will quickly be ground:  

Says old Simon the King,  
says old Simon the King,  
With a threadbare Cloak and a mamsy Nose  
sing hay ding ding a ding ding.    

Then straight the sails were drawn up,  
exposed to the weather and wind;  
When as the Miller a top,  
the weather-vein right did find;  
Yet found the motion but small,  
which made him begin to misdoubt,  
That he should do nothing at all,  
for Molly began to pout:  

Says old Simon etc.    

But urging her Grist to be ground,  
the fault she long searched to know,  
And the Vice of the Mill she found,  
for why? the Stones were too low;  
Then gently she moved the Beam,  
and settled them in their place,  
When round the sails did skim,  
and her Grist was ground apace.  

Says old Simon etc.    

More Sacks on the Mill was the cry,  
let's now work and save the wind;  
But at last the Miller lay by,  
he had no more Grist to grind:  
But glad was to find one so witty  
to help him out at a dead lift,  
Swearing that none so pretty  
had  set his Mill adrift:  

Says old Simon etc.    

Her Grist she had Tole-free away,  
& might have the like when she pleased  
For the Miller he ne'er said her nay,  
since his labour was mightily eased:  
The Lasses that came to the Mill,  
they envied poor Molly 'tis true;  
But let them say all what they will,  
Molly's the best of the Crew:  

Says old Simon the King,  
says old Simon the King,  
Wi●h a threadbare Cloak and a mamsy Nose,  
sing hay ding ding a ding ding.    
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger.