they hung him up before the storm,

and turned him o'er and o'er.

they filled up a darksome pit

with water to the brim;

they heaved in john barleycorn,

there let him sink or swim.

they laid him out upon the floor,

to work him farther woe;

and still, as signs of life appear'd,

they toss'd him to and fro.

they wasted, o'er a scorching flame,

the marrow of his bones;

but a miller us'd him worst of all,

for he crush'd him between two stones.

and they hae taen his very heart's blood,

and drank it round and round;

and still the more and more they drank,

their joy did more abound.

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,

tho' 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!