26. 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!

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