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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 Judgement Tide,
 * By Oak and Ash and Thorn!