Oi, I’d surely fall.
I’ve drunk up my coat and hat,
The boots from off my feet;
In the inn, I’ll swear to that,
The miller’s vodka’s sweet.
“Oi, what is that devilish brute standing right in the middle of the dam for, keeping my oxen from crossing? If I wasn’t too tired to get out of the cart, I’d show him how to plant himself there in the middle of the road. Gee, gee, gee-up!”
“Stop a minute, my good man!” said the devil very sweetly. “I want to have a minute’s talk with you.”
“A minute’s talk? All right then, talk away, only I’m in a hurry. The tavern at Novokamensk will soon be closed so that no one can get in. But I don’t know what you want to talk about; I don’t know you. Well?”
“About whom were you singing that pretty song?”
“Thank you for praising it! I was singing about the miller that lives in this mill, but whether the song was pretty or not is my own affair, because I was singing it to myself. Perhaps some people would fly when they heard the song, perhaps some would cry. Gee, gee, gee-up! What! Are you still standing there?”