THE THORN
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested
A sprig her fair breast to adorn,
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested,
A sprig her fair breast to adorn.
No! By heav'n! I exclaimed, may I perish,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn!
When I show'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry,
She blushed like the dawning of morn,
When I show'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry,
She blushed like the dawning of morn.
Yes! I'll consent, she replied, if you promise,
That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn.
JOHN BARLEYCORN
There was three kings into the East,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath,
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath,
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And showers began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.