They took a plough and ploughed him down,
Threw clods upon his head,
And they have sworn a solemn oath,
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful spring came brightly 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 do him wrong.
The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale,
His bending joints and drooping head,
Showed he began to fail.
Then they hired men with sickles sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
And the worst of all they served Barleycorn,
They served him barbarously.
Then they hired men with pitchforks,
To pitch him onto the load,
And worst of all they served Barleycorn,
They bound him with a cord.
Then they hired men with thrashels
To beat him high and low,
They came smick smack on poor Jack's back,
Till the flesh began to flow.
O they put him in the maltin' kiln,
Thinking to dry his bones,
And worst of all they served Barleycorn,
They crushed him between two stones.
Then they put him into the mashing tub,
Thinking to scald his tail,
And the next thing they called Barleycorn,
They called him homebrewed ale.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
He'll make a maid dance round the room,
As naked as she was born,
He'll make a parson pawn his books,
And a farmer burn his corn.
The whole world over men worship him,
No matter friend or foe,
And where they be that make so free,
He's sure to lay them low.
So put your wine in the glasses fine,
Your cider in the can.
Put John Barleycorn in the old brown jug,
For he's proved the strongest man.