Leigh Anne Hussey's interpretation (poetic and dramatic)

http://lah.nithaus.org/Pages/rituals/barley.txt

THE PLAY OF JOHN BARLEYCORN
                                copyright ©1995, Leigh Ann Hussey

Sower (P)        Reaper (Ps)        Carter (P)        Thresher (P)
Miller (P)        Malter (Ps)        Alewife (Ps)        Narrator

And, in the part of The Estimable J. Barleycorn, Esq., Everybody Else.

Props: boffer flail, scythe, pitchfork, flagstone, cauldron of water, a
"nut-brown bowl", an urn-shaped "lota bowl" (from a magic store), enough
bread and beer for everybody, something to make heat (a solar reflector?),
enough stalks of grain for everybody.
Before starting, the lota bowl should be filled with beer.
-------------------------------

NARRATOR        Awake and hear, my gentle guests,
                How three men came out of the west,
                That they would never wait nor rest
                        Their oath was sworn
                Until they all had sore oppressed
                        John Barleycorn.

SOWER                Now here come I, a sower strong,
                Upon my body, it is wrong
                That Barleycorn should live so long
                        And so reknowned.
                I'll harrow him where he belongs,
                        Beneath the ground.

[Sower, Carter and Thresher position everyone in rows, then sit them
down (and throw a big sheet or parachute or something over them?).]

NARRATOR        And so in Earth Sir John did lie
                Unseen by any under sky
                Until the Waters from on high
                        Did wet him there
                And so he rose, death to defy
                        In living Air.

[(The sheet is removed.) Reaper, Malter and Alewife mist everyone
with water from spray bottles and hand each person a stalk of grain.]

WOMEN                Rise up, rise up, Barleycorn,
                All that dies shall be reborn.
[or something like that]

NARRATOR        The Fiery Sun so burned him gold
                And in due time Sir John grew old
                Indeed, his strength it grew tenfold,
                        He flourished so.
                And all resolved, when they were told,
                        To work him woe.

REAPER                My brother failed the task he planned,
                So here come I, with scythe in hand,
                A reaper fit to clear the land
                        Of all that grows,
                And Barleycorn shall never stand
                        Against my blows!

[Reaper "cuts" everyone down with the scythe.]

CARTER                Now here come I to play my part --
                My fork is keen to pierce his heart,
                And then I'll bind him to my cart
                        And bear him hence,
                Where crabtree sticks shall make him smart
                        For his offense!

[Carter pokes everyone gently with the pitchfork.]

THRESHER        Indeed you shall not work alone,
                For here come I, a thresher known;
                My flail shall flay him skin from bone
                        With goodly speed,
                And then beneath the miller's stone
                        He'll die indeed!

[Thresher walks about and gives everybody a smack with the boffer flail.]

MALTER                But first I'll make him suffer sore;
                Upon my drafty malting floor
                I'll make him lie, and furthermore
                        For our delight,
                I'll throw him through my oven door
                        And roast him right!

[Malter carries the heating source around and gives everyone a dose.]

MILLER                I am the miller, as they said,
                Who Barleycorn may rightly dread.
                I'll lay the millstone on his head
                        And crush him well,
                And then he surely will be dead
                        As all can tell.

[Miller carries the flagstone about and lays it once on everyone's head.]

ALEWIFE                Now I, the alewife, join the plot:
                I'll catch his blood into my pot,
                And bones and blood and skin the lot,
                        I'll boil them fair,
                So certainly his death is wrought,
                        That I do swear.

[She walks about with the cauldron and the lota bowl. We'll need a shill
or two to start everybody, but the idea is that everyone dips their
stalk in the cauldron and sprinkles water into the lota bowl.]

[At this point, Alewife sets the cauldron aside, the nut-brown bowl is
brought out and the contents of the lota bowl poured into it -- there's
little enough water that, with a dark enough beer, it shouldn't be
particularly noticable, and the effect of the emptying and magically
refilling vessel is really impressive.]

[The bowl and the (covered) bread are brought to the center and the
players make a circle around them.]

[Elton & Leigh Ann perform "Corn that Springeth Green".]

NARRATOR:        Behold what mystery is there,
                For twice do Earth and Water fair,
                And twice do Fire and sweet Air,
                        Transmute Sir John.
                Now taste and know as I declare
                        That he lives on!

[Beer and bread are passed around. Leigh Ann sings "Regulus":]

                REGULUS

Long the Plough in nightly circle
carved its furrow in the sky;
now the Sun will grip the sickle
curved around the Lion's eye.
Mill of heaven, every hour
grinding seasons out as flour
high above the harvest plain,
turns in beauty, never slowing
as the rigs of corn are growing
tawny as a lion's mane.

        And life shall triumph as the barley is cut down,
        and the night dissolve inside the cup we pass around.
        Ale is flowing and bestowing
        wonder and delight on us.
        Leo rises and advises
        Sol now rules through Regulus.

        Ah...

Slashed and broken, burned and boiled,
Barley dies four times in all.
Yet is death's dominion foiled
when it's drowned in alcohol.
Barley's blood is joy in measure,
first-fruits are the Lion's treasure,
drunkenness the Lion's price.
Who accepts the Lion's ration
knows full well the pain and passion
in the barley's sacrifice.

        And life shall triumph...
        
Furze is blooming in the meadow
luring bees to their desire;
gold becrowns both sun and furrow,
splendid with the Lion's fire.
We will dance to pipe and tambour,
deep we'll drink in gold and amber,
drench our limbs in Eros' brine.
Warm hearts in the Lion's favor
shall the dregs of summer savor
heady-sweet as honey wine.

        And life shall triumph...

NARRATOR:        Let barley bless both great and small
                That all so rise that erst did fall.
                Good fortune be to some and all
                        And everyone;
                Now heed the groaning table's call:
                        This play is done!