Under the Greenwood Tree
(from As You Like It)
by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

      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 pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
            Here shall he see
            No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

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