Under The Greenwood Tree

Under the greenwood tree

     Who loves to lie with me,

     And turn his merry note

     Unto the sweet bird's throat,

   Come hither, come hither, come hither:

     Here shall he see

     No enemy

   But winter and rough weather.

      Who doth ambition shun,

    And loves to live i' the sun,

    Seeking the food he eats,

    And pleas'd with what he gets,

  Come hither, come hither, come hither:

    Here shall he see

    No enemy

  But winter and rough weather.

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