Roses

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her read more

Go pretty rose, go to my fair,
Go tell her all I fain would dare,
Tell her of hope; tell her of spring,
Tell her of all I fain would sing,
Oh! were I like thee, so fair a thing.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

He that plants thorns must never expect to gather roses.

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.

There is no gathering the rose without being pricked by the
thorns.

Thus to the Rose, the Thistle:
Why art thou not of thistle-breed?
Of use thou'dst, then, be read more

Thus to the Rose, the Thistle:
Why art thou not of thistle-breed?
Of use thou'dst, then, be truly,
For asses might upon thee feed.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.

Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.