It was upon a Sommers shynie day, When Titan faire his beames did display, In a fresh fountaine, farre from all mens vew, She bath'd her brest, the boyling heat t'allay; She bath'd with roses red, and violets blew, And all the sweetest flowres, that in the forrest grew.
The rose is red, the violet's blue, The honey's sweet, and so are you. Thou are my love and I am thine; I drew thee to my Valentine: The lot was cast and then I drew, And Fortune said it shou'd be you.
We will buy very pretty things A-walking through the faubourgs. Violets are blue, roses are red, Violets are blue, I love my loves.
Les bleuets sont bleus, les roses sont roses, Les bleuets sont bleus, j'aime mes amours. *Pháp