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.