John Barleycorn: A Ballad.

I.         There were three kings into the east,             Three kings both great and high;         And they hae sworn a solemn oath             John Barleycorn should die. II.         They took a plough and plough'd him down,             Put clods upon his head;         And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath             John Barleycorn was dead. III.         But the cheerful spring came kindly on,             And show'rs began to fall;         John Barleycorn got up again,             And sore surpris'd them all. IV.         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. V.         The sober autumn enter'd mild,             When he grew wan and pale;         His beading joints and drooping head             Show'd he began to fail. VI.         His colour sicken'd more and more,             He faded into age;         And then his enemies began             To show their deadly rage. VII.         They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,             And cut him by the knee;         Then ty'd him fast upon a cart,             Like a rogue for forgerie. VIII.         They laid him down upon his back,             And cudgell'd him full sore;         They hung him up before the storm.             And turn'd him o'er and o'er. IX.         They filled up a darksome pit             With water to the brim;         They heaved in John Barleycorn,             There let him sink or swim. X.         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. XI.         They wasted o'er a scorching flame             The marrow of his bones;         But a miller us'd him worst of all,             He crush'd him 'tween the stones. XII.         And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,             And drank it round and round;         And still the more and more they drank,             Their joy did more abound. XIII.         John Barleycorn was a hero bold,             Of noble enterprise;         For if you do but taste his blood,             'Twill make your courage rise. XIV.         '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. XV.         Then let us toast John Barleycorn,             Each man a glass in hand;         And may his great posterity             Ne'er fail in old Scotland!