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Says the Thistle, My spears
Defends mortals and fears,
Whilst thou'rt unguarded on the plain;
And I do suppose,
Tho' I were a Rose,
I wou'd long to be a * Thistle again.
And I do suppose, &c.
O Friend, says the Rose,
You falsely suppose,
Bear witness ye Flowers of the Plain;
You woud take so much pleasure,
In Beauty’s vast treasure,
You wou'd ne'er be a * Thistle again.
You wou'd take, &c.
The Thistle at length,
Admiring the Rose,
With all the gay Flowers of the plain,
She throws off her points,
Herself she anoints
And now in close Union she's gone.
She throws off her points, &c.
But in a cold stormy day
While heedless she lay,
No longer could sorrow refrain,
She fetch'd a deep groan,
With many Oh---oh!
O were I a * Thistle again!
She fetch'd a deep groan, &c.
