ȴһ

ɯʿǾ籾㻶ϲAs You Like ItĻʫһǡ

Under the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet birds throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither.

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

ڶǡ

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.

197248գھ˾У£

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