Tonart: Bb minor•
Verse 1
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Come all you pretty fair maids,
who flourish in your prime.
Be sure to keep your garden clean,
let no one take your time.
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My time, it is all gone away,
I cannot plant anew.
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And in the place where my time stood,
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it's all grown up in rue.
In
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June comes in the primrose flower, but that is not for me,
I will pull out my primrose
flower and plant a willow tree.
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Oh, wil low, green wil low,
with sorrow mixed among,
To tell to all this wide world,
I loved a false young man.
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