One of those songs that I've known 'forever' -
I have no idea when or where I first heard it.
Come all you maidens young and fair
All you that are blooming in your prime
Beware oh beware to keep you gardens fair
And let no man steal away your thyme
For thyme it is a precious thing
Thyme brings all things to your mind
Thyme with all it's labours along with all it's
joys
Oh thyme brings all things to an end
For once I had a bunch of thyme
I thought it never would decay
Until a saucy fiddler he chanced to pass my
way
And he stole away me bonny bunch of
thyme
For thyme it is a precious thing
Thyme brings all things to your mind
Thyme with all it's labours along with all it's
joys
Oh thyme brings all things to an end
Well this fiddler he played to me a tune
I thought it never would decay
he played me a tune to keep me well
minded
Of the night he stole away me bunch of
thyme
For thyme it is a precious thing
Thyme brings all things to your mind
Thyme with all it's labours along with all it's
joys
Oh thyme brings all things to an end
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Here is another version, from the singing of
Sarah Cleveland
This seems to be a combination of "Seeds
of Love" and "Let No Man Steal Your
Thyme".
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 |
The following variant was collected from
David Morrow and Moses Blake, 1906
(Marrow Bones)
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 |