John Barleycorn

There was three men come 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 men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn was dead.

They let him lie for a very long time Till the rain from heaven did fall, And little Sir John sprung up his head And that amazed them all. They let him stand till midsummer And he growed both pale and wan. Then little Sir John, he growed a long beard And so become a man.

They hired men with the scythes so sharp To cut him off at the knee. And poor little Johnny Barleycorn They served most barbarously. They hired men with the sharp pitchforks To pierce him to the heart. And the loader, he served him worse than that For he bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him all around the field A prisoner to endure, And in the barn poor Barleycorn They laid him upon the floor. 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.

I'll make a boy into a man, A man into an ass. I'll change your gold to silver, lass, And your silver into brass. I'll make the huntsman hunt the fox With never a hound or horn. I'll bring the tinker into gaol Says old John Barleycorn.

Oh barley wine is the choicest drink That was ever drunk on land. It will make a man do miracles By the turning of his hand. You can tip your brandy in a glass, Your whiskey in a can, But barley corn and his nut-brown ale Will prove the stronger man.