The Miller's Daughter riding to the Fair,
without a Saddle upon a scurvy Mare,
cry'd, "Oh Mother I'm quite undone,
I'm all o'er grown with Hair."
"Away you filly Daughter, tis ey'ry she's concern,             Lively youg girl.
and if you won't believe me,
look here and you may learn."
Then taking her aside,
she made the matter plain.
"O mother, you're ten times worse,
why sure you rid upon the Main."             Rode.