The Miller?s Asleep in his Mill

Tho? Phillis denies me,
And seems to surprise me,
My heart, my fond bosom lie still,
As the river?s a flowing,
The miss clack is going,
The miller?s asleep in his mill.

The little God eyes me,
And seems to envy me,
My heart, my fond bosom lie still,
As the river?s a flowing,
The mill clack is going,
The miller?s asleep in his mill.

My eyes they speak pleasure,
Talk things out of measure,
My heart, my fond bosom lie still,
As the birds slily creeping,
My love lies a sleeping,
The linnets awake in it?s nest.

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