Capo 7
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There were three men came out of the west,
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their fortunes for to try
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And these three men made a solemn vow:
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John Barleycorn must die.
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They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in;
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threw clods at Barley's head
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And these three men made a solemn vow:
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John Barleycorn was dead.
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They've let him lie for a very long time,
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‘till the rains from heaven did fall
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And little Sir John sprung up his head,
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and so amazed them all.
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They've let him stand ‘till midsummer's day,
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‘till he looked both pale and wan
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And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard,
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and so become a man.
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They've hired men with the scythes so sharp,
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to cut him off at the knee
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They've rolled him and tied him by the waist,
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servin' him most barbarously.
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They've hired men with the sharp pitchforks,
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who pricked him to the heart
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And the loader he has served him worse than that,
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for he's bound him to the cart
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They've wheeled him around and around the field,
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‘till they came unto a barn
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And there they made a solemn oath,
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on poor John Barleycorn.
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They've hired men with the crab-tree sticks,
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to cut him skin from bone
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And the miller he has served him worse than that,
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for he's ground him between two stones.
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And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
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and he's brandy in the glass
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And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl,
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proved the strongest man at last.
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The huntsman, he can't hunt the fox,
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nor so loudly to blow his horn
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And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pots,
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without a little Barleycorn
