Let No Man Steal Your Thyme

Come, all you fair and tender girls,
That flourish in your prime, 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 passed and gone,
He'll care no more for you,
And every place, where your thyme was waste,
Will all spread o'er with rue,
Will all spread o'er with rue.

The gardener's son was standing by.
Three flowers he gave to me:
The pink, the blue and the lilac true
And the red, red rosy tree,
And the red, red rosy tree.

But I refused the red rose bush
And gained a willow tree,
That all the world may plainly see
How my love slighted me,
How my love slighted me.



Credits
Writer(s): Traditional / Dp, Mary Ann Hampton
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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