A Pleasant New BALLAD to sing Evning and Morn,
Of the Bloody Murder of Sir JOHN BARLEY CORN.
To the Tune of, Shall I lye 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 busy 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 die.
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Some said kill him, some said him drown,
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Some wishd to hang him high;
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For those that follow Barley-Corn,
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They said would Beggars die.
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Then with a Plow they Blowd 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 should not rise.
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With Harrows long 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 within the Earth,
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Till Rain from Sky did fall;
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Then he grew up on 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 sprung up on high,
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And had a goodly Beard.
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When ripening at St. Jamess Tide,
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His Countenance waxed wan,
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Yet 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 Field 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 vile,
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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 hye,
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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 on him at once;
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Who thwackd 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, fannd, 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 steepd 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 die.
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They rubd and stird him up and down,
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And oft did toil and ture,
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The Malt-man likewise vows his Death,
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His Body should be sure.
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They pulld and hauld him up in Spight;
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And threw him on a Kiln,
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Yea, dryd him oer a Fire hot,
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The more to work their Will.
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Then to the Mill they forcd him straight,
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Whereas they bruisd his Bones,
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The Miller swore to Murder him
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Betwixt a Pair of Stones.
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The last Time they took him up,
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They servd him worse than that,
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For with hot scalding Liquor store,
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They washd him in a Fat.
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But not content with this, I wot,
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They wrought him so much Harm,
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With cruel threat they promise next,
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To beat him to a 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 heavd him straight out of the Fat,
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And turnd him into the Barrel.
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They goard and broachd it with a Tap,
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So thus his Death began,
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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 Pails;
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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 oer Night.
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All you good Wives that brew good Ale,
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Heavn keep you from Sin,
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But if you put too much Water in,
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The Deil put out your Eyne.
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