From Lord Fjordinand the Firth
Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old Engerland to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak and Ash and Thorn.
Sing Oak and Ash and Thorn, good sirs
All on a midsummer’s morn!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever Aeneas 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 mold,
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 it is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Elm she hates mankind, and waits
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’ll 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’ve been out in the woods all night, A-conjuring Summer in! We bring you good news by word of mouth Good news for cattle and corn Sure as the Sun come up from the South, With Oak and Ash and Thorn!