John Barleycorn
Robert Burns
1759 to 1796
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
The sultry suns of Summer came,
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
And he grew thick and strong;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
To work him farther woe;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
Of noble enterprise;
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
And turned him o'er and o'er.
And cudgell'd him full sore;
John Barleycorn got up again,
There was three kings into the east,
They laid him out upon the floor,
With water to the brim;
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
Put clods upon his head,
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
They toss'd him to and fro.
His bending joints and drooping head
They laid him down upon his back,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
He faded into age;
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And cut him by the knee;
They hung him up before the storm,
To show their deadly rage.
They filled up a darksome pit
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
And show'rs began to fall;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill heighten all his joy;
John Barleycorn was dead.
Show'd he began to fail.
Like a rogue for forgerie.
That no one should him wrong.
John Barleycorn should die.
There let him sink or swim.
'Twill make your courage rise
Three kings both great and high,
Their joy did more abound.
And then his enemies began
When he grew wan and pale;
And still the more and more they drank,
The marrow of his bones;
And drank it round and round;
And may his great posterity
His colour sicken'd more and more,
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
And sore surpris'd them all.
Each man a glass in hand;