good night, sweet ladies; drifting into the full moon

How should I your true love know 

    From another one? 
    By his cockle hat and staff, 
    And his sandal shoon.

 He is dead and gone, lady, 
    He is dead and gone; 
    At his head a grass-green turf, 
    At his heels a stone. 

Larded with sweet flowers 
    Which bewept to the grave did go 
    With true-love showers.

 There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, 

    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-grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with  a difference.

There's a daisy: I would give you 
    some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they say he made a good end.....