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But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn came up again, And sore surpris'd them all.
The sultry suns of summer came,
The sober autumn enter'd mild,
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They 've ta'en a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
They filled up a darksome pit
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
They laid him out upon the floor
They wasted o'er a scorching flame
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him 'tween two stones.
And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,
And still the more and more they drank,
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
"Twill make a man forget his woe; "Twill heighten all his joy;
"Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Though the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
THE RIGS O' BARLEY.
TUNE-"Corn rigs are bonnie."
Ir was upon a Lammas night,
The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Corn rigs, and barley rigs,
And corn rigs are bonnie:
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
I kent her heart was a' my ain;
Her Flowing Locks.
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
But by the moon and stars sae bright,
I ha'e been blithe wi' comrades dear;
HER FLOWING LOCKS.
HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
An' round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.*
TUNE-"The weaver and his shuttle, O."
My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great
was charming, 0:
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O;
Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation,O. In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O.
*"This song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification: but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over." - Burns's Reliques, p. 329.