"A NEW SONG.
"To the Tune of Old Sir John Barleycorn, Or Jack of
all Trades.
"All you that be good fellows,
Come listen unto me,
If that you love the alehouse
And merry company.
"Attend unto my story,
It makes my heart full sorry,
Which I fear is too true
And many doth it rue.
"'Tis of a gallant noble Knight,
Which many know full well,
An honest man, I witness can,
If I the truth may tell.
"His name is Sir John Barleycorn,
Who makes both beer and bread,
What would do all that now are born,
If Barleycorn was dead?
"For as I abroad did walk,
I heard a piteous cry,
And many a man did talk
That Barleycorn must die,
"His enemies increase so fast,
At board, and eke at bed,
I fear their malice will not cease,
Till they cut off his head.
"For Smut the honest blacksmith,
With many tradesmen more;
And Snip the nimble Taylor,
Doth vow that he shall die.
"And Will the Weaver doth complain,
With many thousands more;
I hope their labour is in vain,
Therefore they may give o'er.
"Yet now awhile give ear,
You that are standers by,
And you presently shall hear
Sir John condemned to die.
"All you that love poor Barleycorn,
A good word for him give,
And he that speaks against him,
I wish he may not live."
The foregoing is nothing like so witty, or funny, as the Black-Letter ballad. A copy is in the British Museum (Rox. i. 343), which, although it has been reprinted, is not generally known, and is too good to lose.[*]
"A pleasant new Ballad to Sing both Even and Morne,
Of the bloody Murther of Sir John Barleycorne.
"To the tune of Shall I lye beyond thee.
"As I went through the North Countrey,
I heard a merry greeting,
A pleasant toy, and full of joy,
two noble men were meeting.
"And as they walked for to sport,
vpon a Sommers day,
Then with another noble man
they went to make a fray.
"Whose name was sir John Barleycorne
he dwelt down in a dale;
Who had a kinsman dwelt him nigh
they cal'd him Thomas Goodale.
"Another named Richard Beere,
was ready at that time;
Another worthy Knight was there,
call'd sir William White Wine.
"Some of them fought in a blacke Jacke,
some of them in a Can;
But the chiefest in a blacke pot,
like a worthy noble man.
"Sir John Barleycorne fought in a Boule
who wonne the victorie;
And made them all to fume and sweare
that Barleycorne should die.
"Some said kill him, some said drowne,
others wisht to hang him hie;
For as many as follow Barleycorne
shall surely beggers die.
"Then with a plough they plowed him vp
and thus they did deuise,
To burie him quicke within the earth
and swore he should not rise.
"With horrowes strong they combed him
and burst clods on his head:
A joyfull banquet then was made,
when Barleycorne was dead.
"He rested still within the earth
till raine from skies did fall
Then he grew vp in branches greene,
which sore amazed them all.
"And so grew vp till Midsommer,
which made them all afeard;
For he was sprouted vp on hie
and got a goodly beard.
"Then he grew till S. James tide
his countenance was wan,
For he was growne vnto his strength,
and thus became a man.
"With hookes and sickles keene,
into the field they hide,
They cut his legs off by the knees,
and made him wounds full wide.
"Thus bloodily they cut him downe
from place where he did stand,
And like a thiefe for treachery,
they bound him in a band.
"So then they tooke him vp againe
according to his kind;
And packt him vp in seuerall stackes
to wither with the wind.
"And with a pitchfork that was sharpe,
they rent him to the heart,
And like a thiefe for treason vile
they bound him in a cart.
"And tending him with weapons strong,
vnto the towne they hie,
And straight they mowed him in a mow
and there they let him lie.
"Then he lay groaning by the wals,
till all his wounds were sore;
At length they took him vp againe
and cast him on the floore.
"They hyred two with holly clubs,
to beat on him at once,
They thwacked so on Barlycorne
that flesh fell from the bones.
"And then they tooke him vp againe
to fulfill womens mind
They dusted and they sifted him,
till he was almost blind.
"And then they knit him in a sacke
which grieued him full sore;
They steep'd him in a Fat, God wot,
for three dayes space and more,
"Then they tooke him vp againe,
and laid him for to drie,
They cast him on a chamber floore,
and swore that he should die.
"They rubbed and they stirred him
and still they did him turne,
The Malt man swore that he should die
his body he would burne.
"They spightfully tooke him vp againe
And threw him on a kill:
So dried him then with fire hot,
and thus they wraught their will.
"Then they brought him to the mill,
and there they burst his bones,
The Miller swore to murther him
betwixt a pair of Stones.
"Then they tooke him vp againe,
and seru'd him worse than that
For with hot scalding liquor score
they washt him in a Fat.
"But not content with this, God wot,
that did him mickle harme,
With threatning words they promised
to beat him into barme
"And lying in this danger deep
for feare that he should quarrell,
They took him straight out of the fat
and tunn'd him in a barrell.
"And then they set a tap to him,
euen thus his death begun;
They drew out euery drain of blood,
whilst any drop would run,
"Some brought iacks vpon their backs
some brought bill and bow,
And euery man his weapon had,
Barlycorne to overthrow.
"When sir John Goodale heard of this
he came with mickle might
And there he took their tongues away,
their legs or else their sight.
"And thus sir John in each respect
so paid them all their hire,
That some lay sleeping by the way
some tumbling in the mire—
"Some lay groning by the wals,
some in the streets down right,
The best of them did scarcely know
what they had done ore night.
"All you good wiues that brew good ale
God turne from you all teen,
But if you put too much water in
the devill put out your eyne.
[*] This ballad, which is circa 1640, was stolen wholesale by Robert Burns, as an examination of "John Barleycorn" will prove.
"FINIS.
"London, Printed for John Wright, and are to be sold at his
shop in GuiltSpurre street, at the syne of the Bible."