44 SELECT POETRY

The sober autumn entered mild,
And he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head,
Showed he began to fail.

His colour sickened more and more,
He faded into age ;

And then his enemies began,
To show their deadly rage.

They took a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee ;

Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgery.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore ;

They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o’er and o’er.

They filled up then a darksome pit
With water to the brim ;

And heaved in poor John Barleycorn,
To let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe ;

And still as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him too and fro.

They wasted o’er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones ;
But the miller used him worst of all,
For he crushed him between two stones,