Dress Does Not Make the Man

My love is like the white thorn tree
When its leaves are blown away
His cheeks are red as haw berry
His dress is never gay


My love is like the Bramble bushes
Whose leaves lie on the ground
While hes sitting on the rushes
His looks have power to wound


His dress — that does not make the man
In one dress all the year
Wi coarse smock frock as brown as tan
He does at Church appear


I knew him when a Shepherd boy
His dress was hodden grey
But his plump cheeks of health and joy
Stole all my heart away —
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