William Shakespeare
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