Classic Poem

In Staffordshire I was born,
Near Newcastle-under-Lyme,
But the pretty maidens all laugh me to scorn
For my wearing of the posy of thyme.

It was in the time of the year
When the thyme it grew wild;
It was just at the height of my bloom
When my false love he got me with child.

But now he is gone to the sea,
He has blasted me just in my prime;
I never more shall him see,
So I'll wear the posy of thyme.

For the time will go swiftly along,
And time for no man will stay;
May the time and tide be his guide
And send my true love unto me.

If fortune proves to me severe,
And I should never see him no more,
I'll wear the sweet posy of thyme
For the false man whom I adore.

Young maidens take warning by me,
Lest ye are cropped in the height of your prime,
And are forced to sing lullaby
And like me wear the posy of thyme.