Текст песни The Irish Girl - Fran Foote

As I walked out on a May morning
Down by the riverside
I gazed all around me
When an Irish girl I spied
So red and rosy were her cheeks
And coal black was her hair
And costly were the robes of gold
That the Irish girl did wear
Her boots were made from Spanish leather
And sprinkled all with dew
She wrung her hands and she tore her hair
Crying oh what shall I do?
I'm going home, I am going home
I am going home, said she
How can I think of a roving
And slight my own Johnny
And if I was a butterfly
I would fly to my love's breast
And if I was a linnet
I would sing my love to rest
And if I was a nightingale
I would sing till the morning clear
I would sit and sing to you Johnny
For once I loved you dear
I wish I was that red rose bush
That in the garden grew
And if I was the gardener
To my love I would prove true
For there's not one month in all the year
That my love I'd not renew
With flowers three I would garnish thee
Sweet William, thyme and rue