Green groweth the holly, 
 So doth the ivy. 
 Though winter blasts blow never so high, 
 Green groweth the holly. 
 As the holly groweth green
 And never changeth hue, 
 So I am, ever hath been, 
 Unto my lady true.
 As the holly groweth green
 With ivy all alone
 When flowers cannot be seen
 And greenwood leaves be gone,

 Now unto my lady
 Promise to her I make, 
 From all other only
 To her I me betake.

 Adieu, mine own lady, 
 Adieu, my special
 Who hath my heart truly
 Be sure, and ever shall.