John Barleycorn (English folksong—ca. 1400 AD)

There were three men came out of the west
Their fortunes for to try;
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn must die.

They've ploughed, they've sown, they've harrowed him in,
Threw clods upon his head;
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn was dead.

They've let him lie for a very long time
Till the rains from heaven did fall;
And little Sir John sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.

They let him stand till Midsummer's day
Till he look'd both pale and wan;
And little Sir John's grown a long long beard
And so become a man.

They've hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee;
They rolled him and tied him by the waist,
Serving him most barbarously.

They've hired men with sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him to the heart;
And the loader he has served him worse than that,
For he's bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him around and around a field
Till they came unto a barn;
And there they made a solemn oath
On poor John Barleycorn.

They hired men with the crabtree sticks
To cut his skin from bone;
And the miller he has served him worse than that,
For he's ground him between two stones.

And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl
And his brandy in the glass;
And little Sir John and the nut-brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last.

The huntsman he can't hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly to blow his horn;
And the tinker he can't mend kettle nor pots
Without a little barleycorn.