The Wife A-Lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your fe'ce, Up ste'rs or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple'ce, Where flat-bough'd beech do grow; Below the beeches' bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome. Since you noo mwore be at my zide, In walks in zummer het, I'll goo alwone where mist do ride, Drough trees a-dripp'n wet; Below the ra'n-wet bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I do grieve at hwome. Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Your va'ce do never sound, I'll eat the bit I can avword, A-vield upon the ground; Below the darksome bough, my love, Where you did never dine, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I at hwome do pine. Since I do miss your va'ce an' fe'ce In pra "yer at eventide, I'll pray wi' woone sad va'ce vor gre'ce To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an' bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, An' be a-w'it'n vor me now, To come vor evermwore.