Are you going to Scarborough Fair:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt:
(On the side of a hill in the deep forest green.)
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
(Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested brown.)
Without no seams nor needle work,
(Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain)
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
(Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.)
Tell her to find me an acre of land:
(On the side of a hill in the sprinkling of leaves.)
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
(Washes the grave with silvery tears.)
Between the salt water and the sea strands,
(A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.)
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather:
(War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions.)
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
(Generals order their soldiers to kill.)
And gather it all in a bunch of heather,
(And to fight for a cause they have long ago forgotten.)
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.
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