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