Far from the madding crowd (2015) - Let no man steal your thyme

Come all you fair and tender girls

That flourish in your prime.

Beware, beware keep your garden fair.

Let no man steal your thyme;

Let no man steal your thyme.

For when your thyme is past and gone,

He’ll care no more for you,

And every place where your thyme was waste

Will all spread o’re with rue,

Will all spread o’re with rue.

The gardener’s son was standing by;

Three flowers he gave to me

The pink, the blue, and the violet, too,

And the red, red rosy tree,

The red, red, rosy tree.

But I forsook the red rose bush

and gained the willow tree,

So all the world might plainly see

How my love slighted me,

How my love slighted me.