Under the Greenwood Tree
UNDER the greenwood treeWho loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird’s throat—Come hither, come hither, come hither!Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shunAnd loves to live i’ the sun,Seeking the food he eatsAnd pleased with what he gets—Come hither, come hither, come hither!Here shall he seeNo enemyBut winter and rough weather.