Classic Poem

He who with certainty, would find
The depth and scope of woman's mind,
Must judge not by external shew,
From what they say or what they do;
But he who'd construe all their airs,
Must do't as witches say their prayers.

A Miller once, an honest man!
(That's honest as a miller can)
Had a smart wife of goodly parts,
In homely necessary arts;
Could wash and scower, and brew, and bake,
Pies, puddings, tarts, and custards make;
Would smile and curtsey to her neighbours,
And speak so sweetly, " speed your labours. "
While every gossip in the vale
Admir'd her cleanly fardingale;
The village, all alike, consented,
To think the Miller liv'd contented;
But, did he so? have patience, friend,
And form your judgment by the end.

The morning rose, serene and clear,
She hasted to the river near,
To bleach and whiten some new linen,
Reported of her own hands spinning:
Somehow or other in she fell,
The truth no one alive can tell:
For want of aid departed life,
So honest Joseph lost his wife.
What could he do in such a state,
But calmly own the will of fate?
For we are taught, and should believe,
'Tis insignificant to grieve;
And once resign'd once lost our breath,
Nothing can ope the jaws of death;
With good, or ill we must dispence —
'Tis all the will of providence.
Now mark — to find the body drown'd,
The Miller cast his eyes around:
And what, no doubt, most strange may seem,
Direct contrary to the stream;
Of all he met enquiry made,
When thus a clown his progress staid:
" Zure the Mon's mad, or else a foal,
To find her zo's against all rule;
The way the current slows go seek,
She'll scarcely float this way to week. "

The Miller cry'd, " thou simple oaf,
Give o'er thy sneering, cease to scoff;
Thou wert n'er married in thy life — —
The corse I seek was once my wife;
And, surely, with all deference due,
I knew her better far than you.
From the first hour she was my bride,
She went against both wind and tide;
Noisy, untoward, sulky, fly,
Pleasant when any one was by:
From whence she gain'd the name of civil,
But I alone still sound her devil;
Conceited, discontented, vain,
Her only pleasure others pain.
She'd prove, disprove, swear wrong was right,
What now was black, anon was white.
Just as it pleas'd her inclination,
To soment broils and breed vexation;
To tell her dogged humours clear,
Would take me up at least a year.
Then think not: am mad, or dream,
To seek her now against the stream:
I know it, from her ways in life,
This is the way to find my wife. "
— The astonish'd clown at length confest,
That way to find her was the best;
But cry'd, if all be true you've said,
I'd seek her not, alive or dead.