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 in the place your time was waste
With spread all over with rue, With spread all over with rue
A woman is a branchy 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
He'll take what he can find
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