Page:Robin Adair (2).pdf/5

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5

They laid him down upon his back
and cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
and turn'd 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 like appear'd,
they toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame,
the marrow of his banes;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
for he crush'd him between two stanes.

And they hae ta'en his very hearts blood,
and drunk 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: