Their fortunes for to try,

And these three men made a solemn vow,

John Barleycorn must die...

They let him stand till midsummer's day,

Till he looked both pale and wan,

And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard

And so become a man...

They've hired men with scythes so sharp,

To cut him off at the knee,

They've rolled him and tied him by the waist

Serving him most barbarously...

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl--

And he's brandy in the glass,

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl