Come all ye 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 spread all over with rue
Will spread all over with rue

The gardener's son, 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

A woman is a lofty tree
And man′s a clinging vine
And from her branches carelessly
He'll take what he can find
He'll take what he can find

Come all ye 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