Sir Barleycorn

By the old tavern door on the causey there lay
A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray
& there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop
As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop
& there stood the cobbler as dry as a bun
Almost crackt like a bucket when left in the sun
Hed whetted his knife upon pendil & hone

Till hed not got a spittle to moisten the stone
So ere he could work though hed lost the whole day
He must wait the new broach & bemoisten his clay
The cellar was empty each barrel was drained
To its dregs & Sir John like a rebel remained
In the street for removal too powerful & large
For two or three topers to take into charge
Odd zooks said a gipsey with bellows to mend
Had I strength I would just be for helping a friend
To walk on his legs but a child in the street
Had as much power as he to put John on his feet
Then up came the blacksmith Sir Barley said he
I should just like to storm your old tower for a spree
& my strength for your strength & bar your renown
Id soon try your spirit by cracking your crown
& the cobbler he tuckt up his apron & spit
In his hands for a burster but devil a bit
Would he move so as yet they made nothing of land
For there lay the knight like a whale in the sand
Said the tinker If I could but drink of his vein
I should just be as strong & as stubborn again
Push along said the toper the cellars adry
Theres nothing to moisten the mouth of a fly

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