Page:Arraigning and indicting of Sir John Barleycorn (1).pdf/3

 His colour ſicken'd more and more,
 * He faded into age;

And then his enemies began
 * To ſhew their deadly rage.

They've ta'en a weapon long and ſharp,
 * And cut him by the knee.

Then ty'd him faſt upon a cart,
 * Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
 * And cudgell'd him full ſore.

They hung him up before the ſtorm,
 * And turn'd 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,
 * He cruſh'd him 'tween twa ſtones.