john barleycorn: a ballad
  there was three kings into the east,
  three kings both great and high,
  and they hae sworn a solemn oath
  john barleycorn should die.
  they took a plough and plough'd him down,
  put clods upon his head,
  and they hae sworn a solemn oath
  john barleycorn was dead.
  but the cheerful spring came kindly on,
  and show'rs began to fall;
  john barleycorn got up again,
  and sore surpris'd them all.
  the sultry suns of summer came,
  and he grew thick and strong;
  his head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
  that no one should him wrong.
  the sober autumn enter'd mild,
  when he grew wan and pale;
  his bending joints and drooping head
  show'd he began to fail.
  his colour sicken'd more and more,
  he faded into age;
  and then his enemies began
  to show their deadly rage.
  they've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
  and cut him by the knee;
  then tied him fast upon a cart,
  like a rogue for forgerie.
  they laid him down upon his back,
  and cudgell'd him full sore;
  they hung him up before the storm,
  and turned him o'er and o'er.
  they filled up a darksome pit
  with water to the brim;
  they heaved in john barleycorn,
  there let him sink or swim.
  they laid him out upon the floor,
  to work him farther woe;
  and still, as signs of life appear'd,
  they toss'd him to and fro.
  they wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
  the marrow of his bones;
  but a miller us'd him worst of all,
  for he crush'd him between two stones.
  and they hae taen 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.
  then let us toast john barleycorn,
  each man a glass in hand;
  and may his great posterity
  ne'er fail in old scotland!