Under the Greenwood Tree

Under the Greenwood Tree by William Shakespeare

Under the greenwood tree
      Who loves to lie with me,
      And tune 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 pleased with what he gets—
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
          Here shall he see
          No enemy
But winter and rough weather.