Holly he hath berries as red as any rose,
The foresters, the hunters, keep them for the does.
Nay, Ivy, nay, etc., etc.
Ivy she hath berries as black as any sloe,
There come the owls and eat them as they goe.
Nay, Ivy, nay, etc., etc.
Holly he hath birds, a full, fair flock,
The nightingale, the popinjay, the gentle laverock.
Nay, Ivy, nay, etc., etc.
Good Ivy say to us what bird hath thou;