John Barleycorn
Robert Burns
1759 to 1796
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. Take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
Easy Mode - Auto check enabled
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
The marrow of his bones;
Three kings both great and high,
And may his great posterity
And sore surpris'd them all.
Each man a glass in hand;
And cudgell'd him full sore;
Show'd he began to fail.
John Barleycorn was dead.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
John Barleycorn got up again,
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
When he grew wan and pale;
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
For if you do but taste his blood,
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
They laid him down upon his back,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
To show their deadly rage.
That no one should him wrong.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
And he grew thick and strong;
And cut him by the knee;
With water to the brim;
They laid him out upon the floor,
Of noble enterprise;
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
There let him sink or swim.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
'Twill heighten all his joy;
The sultry suns of Summer came,
'Twill make your courage rise
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
He faded into age;
Their joy did more abound.
They filled up a darksome pit
And still the more and more they drank,
They hung him up before the storm,
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
His bending joints and drooping head
For he crush'd him between two stones.
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
And show'rs began to fall;
And then his enemies began
And drank it round and round;
They toss'd him to and fro.
Put clods upon his head,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
There was three kings into the east,
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,