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28.—SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. |
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There came three kings from out the West Their victory to try; And they have ta'en a solemn oath, Poor Barleycorn should die.
With a Ri-fol-lol, riddle-diddle-dol, Ri-fol, ri-fol-dee.
They took a plough and ploughed him in, Clods harrowed on his head ; And then they took a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
There he lay sleeping in the ground
Till rain did on him fall; Then Barleycorn sprang up his head,
And so amazed them all. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
There he remained till midsummer And looked both pale and wan ;
Then Barleycorn he got a beard And so became a man. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
Then they sent men with scythes so sharp To cut him off at knee ; And then poor Johnny Barleycorn They served most barbarousiie. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c |
6 Then they sent men with pitchforks
strong To pierce him through the heart; And like a doleful tragedy They bound him in a cart.
With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
7 And then they brought him to a barn
A prisoner to endure ; And next they fetched him out again, And laid him on the floor. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
8 Then they set men with holly clubs,
To beat the flesh from th'bones; But the miller served him worse than
that— He ground him 'twixt two stones.
With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
9 Oh ! Barleycorn is the choicest grain
That e'er was sown on land; It will do more than any grain, By the turning of your hand. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c.
io It will make a boy into a man, A man into an ass; To silver it will change your gold, Your silver into brass.
With a Ri-fol-lol, &c. |
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ii Oh ! Barleycorn is th'choicest grain That e'er was sown on land. It will do more than any grain, By the turning of your hand. With a Ri-fol-lol, &c. |
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