John Barleycorn: A Ballad

    john barleycorn: a ballad
    there was three kings into the east,
    three kings both great and high,
    and they hae sworn a solemn oath
    john barleycorn should die.
    they took a plough and plough'd him down,
    put clods upon his head,
    and they hae sworn a solemn oath
    john barleycorn was dead.
    but the cheerful spring came kindly on,
    and show'rs began to fall;
    john barleycorn got up again,
    and sore surpris'd them all.
    the sultry suns of summer came,
    and he grew thick and strong;
    his head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
    that no one should him wrong.
    the sober autumn enter'd mild,
    when he grew wan and pale;
    his bending joints and drooping head
    show'd he began to fail.
    his colour sicken'd more and more,
    he faded into age;
    and then his enemies began
    to show their deadly rage.
    they've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
    and cut him by the knee;
    then tied him fast upon a cart,
    like a rogue for forgerie.
    they laid him down upon his back,
    and cudgell'd him full sore;
    they hung him up before the storm,
    and turned him o'er and o'er.
    they filled up a darksome pit
    with water to the brim;
    they heaved in john barleycorn,
    there let him sink or swim.
    they laid him out upon the floor,
    to work him farther woe;
    and still, as signs of life appear'd,
    they toss'd him to and fro.
    they wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
    the marrow of his bones;
    but a miller us'd him worst of all,
    for he crush'd him between two stones.
    and they hae taen his very heart's blood,
    and drank it round and round;
    and still the more and more they drank,
    their joy did more abound.
    john barleycorn was a hero bold,
    of noble enterprise;
    for if you do but taste his blood,
    'twill make your courage rise.
    'twill make a man forget his woe;
    'twill heighten all his joy;
    'twill make the widow's heart to sing,
    tho' the tear were in her eye.
    then let us toast john barleycorn,
    each man a glass in hand;
    and may his great posterity
    ne'er fail in old scotland!