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Leave it to the stones to carol,

Talking through the handmill’s opening,

Neither do thou groan too loudly,

Let the handmill groan unto thee;

Lest thy father-in-law should fancy

Or thy mother-in-law imagine

That with discontent thou groanest,

And art sighing from vexation.

Lift the meal, and sift it quickly,

To the room in dish convey it,

Bake thou there the loaves with pleasure,

After thou with care hast kneaded,

That the flour becomes not lumpy,

But throughout is mixed most smoothly.

“If you see the bucket leaning,

Take the bucket on your shoulder,

On your arm the water-bucket.

Go thou then to fetch the water.

Carry thou the bucket nicely,

On the yoke-end do thou fix it,

Like the wind returning quickly,

Like the wind of springtime rushing,

By the water do not linger,

By the well forbear to rest thee,

Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,

Or thy mother-in-law imagine

That you wished to see your likeness,

And your beauty to admire,

Rosy cheeks in water painted,

In the well your charms reflected.

“When you wander to the wood-pile,

Wander there to fetch the faggots,

Do not split them up at random,

Take some faggots of the aspen,

Lift thou up the faggots gently,

Make as little noise as may be,

Lest thy father-in-law should fancy,

Or thy mother-in-law imagine,

That you pitch them down in crossness,

And in temper make them clatter.