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Under the Greenwood Tree by Shakespeare









Under the Greenwood Tree
by 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 pleas'd with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.