THE BLOODY MILLER, OR THE MURDERING MILLER - -





One month ago since Christmas last,

The most unhappy day,

The devil, he persuaded me

To take her life away.



I met her at her sister’s house

‘Twas eight o’ clock that night,

But little did that creature know 

I owed her any spite.



I asked her if she’d walk with me

In the fields a little way,

That we might both so well agree

And appoint the wedding day.



As we went down a lonesome place

To the fields a little way,

I drew a stick out of the hedge

And struck her in the face.



As she came down to bended knees,

“Oh, murderer,” she did cry, 

“For Heaven’s sake don’t murder me

For I am not fit to die.”

 

And then to wash her sins away,

I took her by the hair, 

And drug her to a river near,

And left her body there.



Then to my mill, my mill, Iran,

The miller was amazed,

He slowly fixed his eyes on me

And slowly he did gaze.



“Oh, master, master, master, dear,

You look as pale as death;  

Have you been running all this night 

That put you out of breath?



What means the blood upon your hands, 

Likewise upon your clothes?

I answered him immediately,

“By bleeding at the nose.”

I snatched the candle from her hand, 

And to my bed I run,

I lay there trembling all that night, 

For the murder I had done.



I lay there trembling all that night,

I could not take my rest,

I could but feel the flames of hell 

Roll o’er my guilty breast.