UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

Under the greenewood tree,

Who loves to lye with me,

And turne his merrie Note

Unto the sweet Bird's throte:

Come hither, come hither, come hither,

Heere shall he see no enemie

But Winter and rough Weather.

Who doth ambition shunne

And loves to live i' the Sunne,

Seeking the food he eates

And pleased with what he gets:

Come hither, come hither, come hither,

Here shall he see no enemie

But Winter and rough Weather.

William Shakespeare