The Wife a-lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce,   Up steärs or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce,   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,   Droo trees a-drippèn wet; Below the raïn-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 vaïce 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 vaïce an' feäce   In prayer at eventide, I'll pray wi' woone sad vaïce vor greäce   To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an' bough, my love,   Where you be gone avore, An' be a-waïtèn vor me now,   To come vor evermwore.