An' by my hen, an' by her tail,

I vow an' fwear!

The Game fhall pay, o'er moor an' dale,

For this, nieft year.

As foon's the clockin-time is by,
An' the wee pouts begun to cry,
L-d, I'fe hae fportin by an' by,

For my gowd guinea:

Tho' I fhould herd the buckskin kye

For't, in Virginia.

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb,

But twa-three draps about the wame

Scarce thro' the feathers;

An' baith a yellow George to claim,

An' thole their blethers!

It pits me ay as mad's a hare;

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair;
But pennyworths again is fair,

When time's expedient:

Meanwhile I am, refpected Sir,

Your moft obedient.

JOHN

JOHN BARLEYCORN*,

A

BALLA D.

THERE

I.

was three kings into the eaft, Three kings both great and high,

An' they hae fworn a folemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.

This is partly composed on the plan of an old fong

known by the fame name:

II.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,

And they hae fworn a folemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

III.

But the chearful Spring came kindly on,

And fhow'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, And fore furpris'd them all.

IV.

The fultry funs of Summer came,
And he grew thick and ftrong,

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed fpears,
That no one should him wrong.

V.

The fober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

VI.

His colour ficken'd more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To fhow their deadly rage.

VII.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee;