The Millers Advice to his three Sons,
in taking of Toll.
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THERE was a miller who had three
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sons,
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And knowing his life was almost run,
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He calld them all, and askd their will,
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If that to them he left his mill.
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He called first for his eldest son,
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Saying, My life is almost run,
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If I to you this mill do make,
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What toll do you intend to take?
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Father, said he, my name is Jack,
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Out of a bushel Ill take a peck,
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From every bushel that I grind,
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That I may a good living find.
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Thou art a fool, the old man said,
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Thou hast not well learnd thy trade,
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This mill to thee I neer will give,
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For by such toll no man can live.
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He calld for his middlemost son,
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Saying, My life is almost run,
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If I to thee the mill do make,
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What toll do you intend to take?
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Father, says he, my name is Ralph,
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Out of a bushel Ill take it half,
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From every bushel that I grind,
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So that I may a good living find.
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Thou art a fool, the old man said,
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Thou hast not learned well thy trade,
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This mill to you I neer can give,
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For by such toll no man live.
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He called for his youngest son,
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Saying, My life is almost run,
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If I to you this mill do make,
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What toll do you intend to take?
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Father, said he, I am your only boy,
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For taking toll is all my joy:
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Before I will a good living lack,
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Ill take it all, and forswear the sack.
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Thou art my boy, the old man said,
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For thou hast well learnd thy trade;
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This mill to thee Ill give, he cryd,
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And then he clossd up his eyes and
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dyd.
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