Let No Man Steal Your Thyme

Come all you girls, where'er you be, Who flourish in your prime Beware, take care if your garden is fair Let no man steal your thyme Let no man steal your thyme For when your thyme is pulled and gone He'll care no more for you And every place where your thyme went to waste Will all spread over with rue Will all spread over with rue I gave my love my summer’s yield and all my autumn’s store. From of my skill he took his fill and asked for more and more, and asked for more and more. He fed to me of honeyed wine and all we sowed in May, but come new spring he went wandering. From me he then did stray, from me he then did stray. The gardener's son was standing by, Sweet flowers he gave to me: The violet blue and the iris too, and the red, red rose made three, and the red, red rose made three. But I refused that red rose bush and I planted the willow tree, so all the world may plainly see how my love slighted me, how my love slighted me. A woman is a branching tree and a man’s a clinging vine, and from her bounty so carelessly he’ll take what he can find, he’ll take what he can find.