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 Nor summer drouth alarms his fears, Nor winter's sad decay, No foresight mars the miller's joy, Who's wont to sing and say, I care for nobody, no not I, If nobody cares for me.

Thus, like the miller, bold, and free, Let us rejoice and sing; The days of youth are made for glee, And time is on the wing. This song shall pass from me to thee, Along this jovial ring; Let heart and voice and all agree To say—Long live the king. 



When trees did bud and fields were green, And broom bloom'd fair to see; When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laughed in her ee; Blythe Davy's blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free, Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I will follow thee.