The Wife A-Lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your fece, Up sters or down below, I'll zit me in the lwonesome plece, 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-drippn wet; Below the ran-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 vace 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 vace an' fece In pra "yer at eventide, I'll pray wi' woone sad vace vor grece To goo where you do bide; Above the tree an' bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, An' be a-witn vor me now, To come vor evermwore.