Let No Man Steal Your Thyme
Come all you fair and tender girls
That flourish in your prime
Beware, beware, keep your garden fair
Let no man steal your Thyme
Let no man steal your thyme
For when your thyme it is past and gone
He’ll care no more for you
And in the place where your thyme was waste
Will spread all o’er with rue
Will spread all o’er with rue
The gardeners’ son was standing by
Three flowers he gave to me
The pink, the blue, and the violet too
And the red, red, rosy tree
The red, red, rosy tree
But I forsook the red rose bush
And gained the willow tree
That all the world might plainly see
How my love slighted me
How my love slighted me
For woman is a branchy tree
And man a clinging vine
And from her branches carelessly
He’ll take what he can find
He’ll take what he can find…
