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Barleycorn's LamentThere were three kings into the EastThree kings both great and high And they had sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die They took a plough and ploughed him down Put clods upon his head And they had sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead But the cheerful Spring came kindly on And showers began to fall John Barleycorn got up again And sore surprised them all The sultry suns of Summer came And he grew thick and strong His head well armed with pointed spears That no one should him wrong Ploughing – Cutting – Cudgelled and Slashed Corn God – Barleycorn! Hung and Scorched and Crushed to Dust Corn God – Barleycorn! Ploughing – Cutting – Cudgelled and Slashed Corn God – Barleycorn! Hung and Scorched and Crushed to Dust Corn God – Barleycorn! The sober Autumn entered mild When he grew wan and pale His bending joints and drooping head Showed he began to fail His colour sickened more and more He faded into age And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage They took a weapon, long and sharp And cut him by the knee Then tied him fast upon a cart Like a rogue for forgery They laid him down upon his back And cudgelled him full sore They hung him up before the storm And turned him o’er and o’er Ploughing – Cutting – Cudgelled and Slashed Corn God – Barleycorn! Hung and Scorched and Crushed to Dust Corn God – Barleycorn! Ploughing – Cutting – Cudgelled and Slashed Corn God – Barleycorn! Hung and Scorched and Crushed to Dust Corn God – Barleycorn! They laid him out upon the floor To work him further woe And still, as signs of life appeared They tossed him to and fro They wasted, o’er a scorching flame The marrow of his bones But a miller used him worst of all For he crushed him between two stones And they have taken his very heart’s blood And drank it round and round And still the more and more they drank Their joy did more abound John Barleycorn was a hero bold Of noble enterprise For if you do but taste his blood ‘Twill make your courage rise ‘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 There were three kings into the East Three kings both great and high And they had sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die They took a plough and ploughed him down Put clods upon his head And they had sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead |