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 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 violet true
And the red, red rosy tree
And the red, red rosy tree.

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