A Pleasant New Ballad to Sing Evening and Morn,
Of the Bloody Murther of Sir John Barley-Corn.
The Tune is, Shall I Lie beyond Thee.
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AS I went through the North Country,
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I heard a merry meeting,
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A pleasant toy, and full of joy,
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two Noble-men were greeting.
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And as they walked forth to sport,
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upon a Summers day,
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They met another Noble-man,
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with whom they had a fray.
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His name was Sir John Barley-Corn,
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he dwelt down in a Vale,
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And had a Kinsman dwelt with him,
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they calld him Thomas good-Ale.
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The one named Sir Richard Beer,
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was ready at that time,
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And likewise came a busie Peer,
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calld Sir William White-wine.
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Some of them fought in a black-Jack,
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some of them in a Can.
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But yet the chiefest in a black pot,
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fought like a Noble-man.
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Sir Barley-Corn fought in a Bowl,
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who won the Victory,
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Which made them all to chafe and swear,
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that Barley-Corn must dye.
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Some said kill him, some said him drown,
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some wisht to hang him high,
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For those that followed Barley-corn
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they said would Beggars dye.
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Then with a Plow they Plowd him up,
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and thus they did devise,
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To bury him within the Earth,
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and swore he would not rise.
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With Harrows strong they came to him,
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and burst Clods on his head,
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A joyful Banquet then was made,
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when Barley-Corn was dead.
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He rested still upon the earth,
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till rain from Sky did fall,
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Then he grew upon branches green,
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which sore amazd them all.
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Increasing thus till Midsummer,
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he made them all afraid,
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For he sprang up on high,
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and had a goodly Beard.
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When ripening at St. James tide,
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his countenance waxe[d] wan,
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Ye[t] now full grown in part of strength,
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and thus became a man.
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Wherefore with Hooks and Sickles keen,
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unto the Fields they hyd,
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They cut his Legs off by the Knees,
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and Limb from Limb divide.
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Then bloodily they cut him down,
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from place where he did stand,
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And like a Thief for Treachery,
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they bound him in a band.
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So then they took him up again,
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according to his kind,
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And placd him up in several stacks,
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to wither with the wind.
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Then with a pitchfork sharp and long,
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they rent him to the heart,
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And Traytor like for Treason vild,
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they bound him in a Cart.
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And tending him with weapons strong,
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unto the Town they hie,
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Whereas they Mowd him in a Mow,
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and so they let him lie.
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They left him groaning by the walls,
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till all his Bones were sore,
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And having took him up again,
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they cast him on the Floor.
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And hired two with Holly Clubs,
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to beat at him at once,
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Who thwackt so hard on Barley-Corn,
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the Flesh fell from his Bones,
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Then after took him up again,
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to please some womens mind,
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Yea, dusted, fand, and sifted him,
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till he was almost blind.
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Full fast they knit him in a Sack,
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which grievd him very sore,
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And soundly steept him in a Fat,
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for three days space and more.
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From whence again they took him out,
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and laid him forth to dry,
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Then cast him on the Chamber Floor,
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and swore that he should dye.
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They rubd and stird him up and down
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and oft did toyl and ture,
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The Mault-man likewise vows his death,
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his body should be sure.
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They puld and hald him up in spight,
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and threw him on a Kill,
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Yea dryd him ore a fire hot,
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the more to work their will.
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Then to the Mill they forc[e]d him straight,
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whereas they bruisd his bones,
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The Miller swore to murther him
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betwixt a pair of Stone[s].
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The last time when they took him up,
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they servd him worse then that,
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For with hot scalding Liquor store,
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they washt him in a fat.
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But not content with this God wot,
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they wrought him so mu[ch] harm,
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With cruel threat they pro[m]ised next,
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to beat him into Barm.
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And lying in this danger-deep,
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for fear that he should Quarrel,
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They headd him straight out of the fat,
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and turnd into the Barrel.
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They goard and broachd i[t] with a Tap,
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so thus his death begun,
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And drew out every drop of Blood,
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while any drop would run.
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Some brought in Jacks upon their backs,
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some brought in Bowls and Pail,
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Yea, every man some weapon had,
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poor Barley-Corn to Kill.
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When Sir John Good-Ale heard of this,
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he came with mickle might,
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And took by strength their Tongues away,
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their Legs, and eke their sight.
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Sir John at last in this respect,
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so paid them all their hire,
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That some lay bleeding by the walls,
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some tumbling in the mire.
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Some lay groaning by the walls,
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some fell ith street down right,
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The wisest of them scarcely knew
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what he had done ore night.
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All you good wives that brew good ale,
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God keep you all from teen,
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But if you put too much water in,
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the Devil put out your Eyne.
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