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Come all you maids, where'er you be,
Who flourish in your prime,
Be wise, be 'ware, keep you garden clean,
Let no man steal your thyme,
Let no man steal your thyme.

For when your thyme is pu'lled and gone,
They care no more for you;
There is not a place your thyme goes waste,
But it spreads all o'er with rue,
It spreads all o'er with rue.

When I was a maid both fair and coy,
I flourished in my prime,
Till a proper, tall young man came and
He stole this heart of mine,
He stole this heart of mine.

My parents they were angry
At my being led astray,
But there's many a dark and cloudy morn
Brings forth a pleasant day,
Brings forth a pleasant day.

The gardener's son being standing by,
Three gifts he gave to me:
The bitter rue, the violet blue,
And the red rose it was three,
And the red rose it was three.

Now, I'll cut off the red rose top,
And I'll plant on the willow tree,
That this whole world will plainly see
How my love slighted me,
How my love slighted me.

The begotten virgins they must live,
Although they live in pain,
And the grass that is mown on yonder hill
Through time will bloom again,
Through time will bloom again.

There are fine boats sailing here, my dear,
And more on the river thine;
But for me to be held in the arms of my love,
And for him to be held in mine,
And for him to be held in mine.

@love @courtship @plant @spice
from the singing of Sarah Cleveland
recorded on Folk Legacy
mixture of Seeds of Love and Let No Man Steal Your Thyme
filename[ THYMSEED

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