_Of all the trees that grow so fair,_
_Old England to adorn,_
_Greater are none beneath the Sun,_
_Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn._
_Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs_
_(All of a Midsummer morn)!_
_Surely we sing no little thing,_
_In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!_
_Oak of the Clay lived many a day,_
_Or ever Æneas began;_
_Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,_
_When Brut was an outlaw man;_
_Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town_
_(From which was London born);_
_Witness hereby the ancientry_
_Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!_
_Yew that is old in churchyard mould,_
_He breedeth a mighty bow;_
_Alder for shoes do wise men choose,_
_And beech for cups also._
_But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,_
_And your shoes are clean outworn,_
_Back ye must speed for all that ye need,_
_To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!_
_Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth_
_Till every gust be laid,_
_To drop a limb on the head of him,_
_That anyway trusts her shade_
_But whether a lad be sober or sad,_
_Or mellow with ale from the horn,_
_He will take no wrong when he lieth along_
_’Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!_
_Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,_
_Or he would call it a sin;_
_But—we have been out in the woods all night_
_A-conjuring Summer in!_
_And we bring you news by word of mouth—_
_Good news for cattle and corn—_
_Now is the Sun come up from the South,_
_With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!_
_Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs_
_(All of a Midsummer morn)!_
_England shall bide till Judgment Tide,_
_By Oak, and Ash and Thorn!_