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The Sprig of Thyme Come all you maidens fair That are just now in your prime, I'd have you to keep your gardens clean And let no man steal your thyme. Oh! I once had a sprig of thyme And it flourished by night and by day Till at length there came a false young man And he stole my thyme all away. So now my thyme is all gone And I cannot plant any new For the very place where my thyme used to grow is all over-run with rue. And rue is a running, running root And it runs so far underneath That I will pluck that running, running rue And I'll plant a jolly oak tree. Now here stands the jolly oak tree That will neither wither or die, And I'll prove so true to my dear love As the stars all in the sky. The gardener was standing by And I asked him to choose for me He chose for me the primrose, the violet and the vine But I did them overlook all three. In June there's a red rosy bud But that's not the flower for me; For oftentimes I've plucked at the red rosy bud And gained the willow tree. Green willow it will twist Green willow it will twine, I wish that I was safe all in that young man's arms That stole away my thyme. Green Willow I will sing Green Willow shall be my song, That all the world may plainly see That I once loved a false young man. From Marrow Bones, Purslow Collected from David Morrow and Moses Blake, 1906 RG oct96
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!