Sprig of Thyme  —Dave Van Ronk—
Come all you sweet and fair young maids
Who flourish in your prime
Be sure and keep your garden clean
Let no man take your thyme
My thyme it is all blown away
I cannot plant a new one
In the place where my thyme stood
It's all grown up in rue
In June comes in a primrose flower
But that is not for me
I will pull off my primrose flower and plant
A willow tree
Oh willow, green willow
With sorrows mixed among
To tell to all this wide wide world
I love a false young man