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JOHN BARLEYCORN.
THERE was three kings into the eaſt
Three king 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 chearful ſpring came kindly on,
And ſhow'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And ſore ſurpriz'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.
