The Miller By The Shore. An East Coast Chanty

The miller by the shore am I,          A man o' despert sense;     I've fotty different soorts o' ways          O' addlin' honest pence.     Good wheat and wuts and barley-corns          My mill grinds all t' day lang ;     Frae faave 'o t' morn while seven o' t' neet          My days are varra thrang.     Chorus     I mill a bit, I till a bit,          I dee all maks 'o jobs,     Frae followin' ploos and hollowin' coos          To mendin' chairs and squabs.(1)     Oh! folks they laugh and girn at me,         I niver tak it ill;     If I's the Jack 'o ivery trade,         They all bring grist to t' mill.     I tend my hunderd yakker farm,          An' milk my Kyloe kye.     I've Lincoln yowes an' Leicester tups          An' twenty head 'o wye.(2)     I've stirks to tak to Scarbro' mart,          I've meers for farmers' gigs;     And oh! I wish that you could see          My laatle sookin' pigs.         I mill a bit. ...     When summer days graws lang an' breet,         Oot cooms my "Noah's Arks,"     Wheer city folk undriss theirsels         An' don my bathin' sarks.(3)     An' when they git on land agean,         I rub' em smooth as silk;     Then bring' em oot, to fill their weeams,         My parkin ceakes an' milk.         I mill a bit. ...     I pike(4) stray timmer on the shore,          An' cuvins(5) on the scar;     I know wheer crabs 'll hugger up,(6)          I know wheer t' lobsters are.     I've cobles fishin' oot i' t' bay,          For whitings, dabs and cods,     I've herrin' trawls and salmon nets,          I've hooks and lines and rods.         I mill a bit. ...     On darksome neets, back-end 'o t' yeer,          I like another sport;     I row my boat wheer t' lugger lies,          Coom frae some foreign port;     A guinea in a coastguard's poke          Will mak him steck his een ;     So he says nowt when I coom yam          Wi' scent and saccharine.         I mill a bit.    ...