Page:Puck of Pook's Hill.djvu/41



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!