Shady grove/The unfortunate swain

The UNFORTUNATE SWAIN.

DOWN in a meadow fresh and gay,
Plucking a flow'r the other day,
Plucking a flow'r both red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.

Where love is planted there it grows.
It buds and blossoms like any rose,
And has so sweet and a pleasant smell,
No flow'r on earth can it excel

Must I be bound and she be free?
Must I love one that loves not me?
Why should I act such a childish part,
To love a girl that will break my heart?

There's thousands, thousands in a room,
My true love carries the highest bloom,
Surely she is some chosen one,
I will have her, or l will have none.

I spy'd a ship sailing on-the sea,
Laden as deep as she could be,
But not so deep as in love I am,
I care not whether I sink or swim.

I set my back against an oak,
I thought had been a trusty tree,
But first it bow'd and then it broke,
And so did my false love to me.

I put my hand into the bush,
Thinking the sweetest rose to find,
I prick'd my finger to the bone,
And left the sweetest rose behind.

If roses are such prickly flowers,
They're to be gather'd while they are green,
And he that loves an unkind lover,
I’m sure he strives against the stream.

When my love is dead and at her rest,
I'll think on her whom I love best,
To wrap her up in the linen strong,
And think on her when she's dead & gone.