Song. "There's The Daisy, The Woodbine"

There's the daisy, the woodbine,     And crow-flower so golden;     There's the wild rose, the eglantine,     And May-buds unfolding;     There are flowers for my fairy,     And bowers for my love:     Wilt thou gang with me, Mary,     To the banks of Brooms-grove?     There's the thorn-bush and the ash-tree     To shield thee from the heat,     While the brook to refresh thee     Runs close by thy feet;     The thrushes are chanting clear,     In the pleasures of love;     Thou'rt the only thing wanting here     'Mid the sweets of Brooms-grove.     Then come ere a minute's gone,     Since the long summer's day     Puts her wings swift as linnets' on     For hieing away.     Then come with no doubtings near,     To fear a false love;     For there's nothing without thee dear,     Can please in Brooms-grove.     The woodbine may nauntle here,     In blossoms so fine,     The wild roses mantling near     In blushes may shine;     Mary queen of each blossom proves,     She's the blossom I love,     She's the all that my bosom loves     'Mong the sweets of Brooms-grove.