A Pleasant new Ballad, to sing Evening and Morn,
Of the bloody Murder of Sir John Barlycorn,
The tune is, 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 p[l]ees[a]nt 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 theyd had a fray.
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His name was Sir John Barlycorn,
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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 called him Thomas Good Ale.
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Then one named Sir Richard Beer
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was ready at that t[i]me,
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And likewise came a busie Pier
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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 Barlycorn fought in a bowle,
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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 Barlicorn should dye,
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Some said him kill, some said him drown,
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some wisht to hang him high,
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For those that followed Birlycorn
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they said would beggers dye,
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Then with a plow they plowed him up,
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and thus they did Devise
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To bury him quick within the Earth
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and swore he should not rise.
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With harrows strong thay came to him
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and burst clods on his head,
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joyfu[l] banquet then was made,
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when Barlycorn 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 up on branches green.
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which sore amazd them all,
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Increasing thus till Midsomer,
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he made them all afeard,
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For he sprang up on high
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and got a goodly beard
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When ripening to St. James-tide,
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his countenance waxed wan,
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Yet now full grown in parter 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 leggs 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 plac[]d him up in severall stakes
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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 high,
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Whereas they mowd him in a Mow
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and so they let him lye.
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They left him groaning by the walls
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till all his wounds were sore,
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And having took him up again,
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they cast him on a floore,
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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 Barlicorn
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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 bind.
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Full fast th[e]y kit him in a sack,
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which grieved him very sore,
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And soundly steep[d] him in a fat,
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for three dayes 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 a 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 Malt-man likewise vows his death
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his body should be sure,
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They pul[]d and hold him yet up in spite,
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and threw him on a Kill,
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Yea dryed him on fire hot
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the more to work their will,
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Then to the Mill they forst 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 when they took him up
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and served 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 much harm.
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With cruell threat they promise 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 heavd him straight out of the fat
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and turnd him in the barrell,
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They gord and broached it with a Tap
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so thus his Death began,
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And drew out every Dram of blood
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whilst any drop would run.
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Some brought in Jacks upon their backs
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some brought Bowl and paile,
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Yea every man some weapon had
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poor Barlicorn 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 his respect,
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so paid them all their hire,
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Then some lay bleeding by the walls
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some tumbling in the mire.
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Some sadly droaning by the walls
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some fell ith streets 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 from all teen,
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But if you put too much water in,
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the Divel put out your Eyne.
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