John Barleycorn
Robert Burns
1759 to 1796
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There was three kings into the east,
Three kings great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But 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 and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've taen weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
They filled a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
laid him out upon the floor,
To work him 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 worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And it round and round;
And still the more and they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!