Then they brought him to the mill and there they burst his bones, The miller swore to murther him, betwixt a paire of stones.
Then they tooke him up againe and serv’d him worse then that; For with hot scalding liquor store, they washt him in a Fat.
But not content with this, God-wot, they did him mickle harme, With threatening words they promisèd, to beat him into barme.
And lying in this danger deep, for feare that he should quarrell, They tooke him straight out of the fat and tunn’d him in a barrell.
And then they set a tap to him, even thus his death begun, They drew out every dram of blood, whilst any drop would run. {300}
Some brought jacks, upon their backes, some brought bill and bow, And every man his weapon had Barly-corne to overthrow.
When Sir John Good-ale heard of this, he came with mickle might, And there he tooke 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 downe right, The best of them did scarcely know what they had done ore-night.
All you good wives that brew good Ale, God turne from you all teene, But if you put too much water in the devill put out your eyne!