Любимые стихи

Лишь выплыл, взяли  в оборот,

Чтоб вновь и вновь страдал.

Когда бросали  взад – вперёд,

Бедняга чуть дышал.

Потом, чтоб закрепить успех,

Сжигали до костей,

Но мельник был страшнее всех -

Растёр между камней.

Враги, испив из сердца кровь,

Жить стали  веселей;

Чем больше пили, тем любовь

В груди цвела сильней.

Джон был герой, героев  кровь

Содержит благодать.

Кто пьёт её, тот вновь и вновь

Таким же можешь стать.

Она начнёт бодрить и греть,

Даст радости прилив;

Заставит вдовье сердце петь,

Глаза слезой омыв.

Давайте выпьем, чтобы Джон

С удачею дружил,

Чтоб со своим потомством он

Шотландии был мил!

"John Barleycorn"

There was three kings unto the east, Three kings both great and high, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down, Put clods upon his head,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall;

John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came, And he grew thick and strong;

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

The sober Autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale;

His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he bagan to fail.

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

And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee;

Then tied 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 further 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, For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise.