There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.
There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me. We may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference!
There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end.
For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
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