Happy's The Miller

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How happy's the miller
That lives by his mill,
That depends on his own
Not on fortune's will.

By the sleight of his hand and the strength of his back,
How merrily, how merrily, his mill goes clack-clack,

Clack-clack,
Clack-clack,

If his wife proves a shrew
As oft is the case,
He knows what he can do
To bring smile to her face.

With his hand to the mill and his shoulder to the sack
He drowns all discord with his musical clack-clack,

Clack-clack,
Clack-clack.

O'er your wives and your daughters
He often prevails,
As he grinds at his mill
The method ne'er fails.

While the hoyden so willingly he lays on her back
All the while the stones cry clack-clack,
Clack-clack,
Clack-clack,
Clack-clack...

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