Shakespeare

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me
And turn his merry note
Until 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 what he gets-
Come hither, come hither, come hither
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather