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