Songs of the Ridings

The Miller by the Shore
an East Coast Chanty

The miller by the shore am I,
A man o’ despert sense;
I’ve fotty different soorts o’ ways
O’ addlin’ honest pence.
Good wheat and wuts and barley-corns
My mill grinds all t’ day lang ;
Frae faave ’o t’ morn while seven o’ t’ neet
My days are varra thrang.

Chorus

I mill a bit, I till a bit,
I dee all maks ’o jobs,
Frae followin’ ploos and hollowin’ coos
To mendin’ chairs and squabs.^[1]
Oh! folks they laugh and girn at me,
I niver tak it ill;
If I’s the Jack ’o ivery trade,
They all bring grist to t’ mill.

I tend my hunderd yakker farm,
An’ milk my Kyloe kye.
I’ve Lincoln yowes an’ Leicester tups
An’ twenty head ’o wye.^[2]
I’ve stirks to tak to Scarbro’ mart,
I’ve meers for farmers’ gigs;
And oh! I wish that you could see
My laatle sookin’ pigs.

I mill a bit. ...

When summer days graws lang an’ breet,
Oot cooms my “Noah’s Arks,”
Wheer city folk undriss theirsels
An’ don my bathin’ sarks.^[3]
An’ when they git on land agean,
I rub’ em smooth as silk;
Then bring’ em oot, to fill their weeams,
My parkin ceakes an’ milk.

I mill a bit. ...

I pike^[4] stray timmer on the shore,
An’ cuvins^[5] on the scar;
I know wheer crabs ’ll hugger up,^[6]
I know wheer t’ lobsters are.
I’ve cobles fishin’ oot i’ t’ bay,
For whitings, dabs and cods,
I’ve herrin’ trawls and salmon nets,
I’ve hooks and lines and rods.

I mill a bit. ...

On darksome neets, back-end ’o t’ yeer,
I like another sport;
I row my boat wheer t’ lugger lies,
Coom frae some foreign port;
A guinea in a coastguard’s poke
Will mak him steck his een ;
So he says nowt when I coom yam
Wi’ scent and saccharine.

I mill a bit. ...

[1] Settles.

[2] Heifers.

[3] Shirts.

[4] Pick up.

[5] Periwinkles.

[6] Crowd together.