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.

Tell her to find me an acre of land:
[On the side of a hill a sprinkling of leaves.]
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
[Washes the grave with silvery tears.]
Between the salt water and the sea strand,
[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;
[General order their soldiers to kill.]
And gather it all in a bunch of heather,
[And to fight for a cause they've 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.