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John Barleycorn. A Ballad
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1
There was three kings into the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.
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2
They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead.
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3
But the chearful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all.
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4
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.
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5
The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; His bending joints and drooping head Show' d he began to fail.
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6
His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage.
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7
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; They ty'd him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie.
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8
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.
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9
They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim.
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10
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.
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11
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a Miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones.
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12
And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.
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13
John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise.
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14
'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.
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15
Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
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