Love
Collected by Bob Copper from a book left by John Johnson (right), 1865-1943, in Fittleworth, Sussex in about 1954: see Chapter Nine, pp. 83-9, of Songs and Southern Breezes for the details; and the appendix for these words. The photo of John Johnson at his garden date is credited to George Garland of Petworth (West Sussex). Click on the photo for a much larger one (also by George Garland, and which might have been taken around 1940) of John Johnson and his wife on their golden wedding anniversary.
Down in the valley the first of May,
Of gathering flowers both fresh and gay
Of gathering flowers both red and blue
I little thought what love could do.Where love is planted there it grows,
It buds and blossoms most like a rose,
It has a sweet and pleasant smell,
No flower on earth can it excelI put my hand into the bush
Thinking the sweetest rose to find,
I pricked my finger to the bone,
I left the sweetest rose behind.If roses are such prickly flowers
They ought to be gathered when they are green,
For controlling of an unkind lover
I'm sure strives hard against the stream.I leant my back against an oak
Thinking its beams some trustive tree,
But first it bent and then it broke,
And so did my false love and me.I saw a ship sailing on the deep,
She sailed as deep as she could swim,
But not so deep as in love I am,
I care not whether I sink or swim.Thousands and thousands all on this earth
I think my love carries the highest show,
Surely she is some chosen one,
I will have her or I'll have none.But now she's dead and in her grave;
Poor girl, I hope that her heart's at rest.
We will wrap her up in some linen strong
And think of her now she is dead and gone.
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