John Barleycorn

There was three men came out of the west

Their fortunes for to try

And these three men made a solemn vow

John Barleycorn should die

They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in

Throwed clods upon his head

And these three man made a solemn vow

John Barleycorn was dead

Then they let him lie for a very long time

Till the rain from heaven did fall

Then little Sir John sprung up his head

And soon amazed them all

They let him stand till midsummer

Till he looked both pale and wan

And little Sir John he growed a long beard

And so became a man

They hired men with the scythes so sharp

To cut him off at the knee

They rolled him and tied him by the waist

And served him most barbarously

They hired men with the sharp pitchforks

Who pricked him to the heart

And the loader he served him worse than that

For he bound him to the cart

They wheeled him round and round the field

Till they came unto a barn

And there they made a solemn mow

Of poor John Barleycorn

They hired men with the crab-tree sticks

To cut him skin from bone

And the miller he served him worse than that

For he ground him between two stones

Here's little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl

And brandy in a glass

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl

Proved the stronger man at last

And the huntsman he can't hunt the fox

Nor so loudly blow his horn

And the tinker he can't mend kettles or pots

Without a little of Barleycorn