The Wife A-Lost

1       Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{'a}ce,
         Up ste{'a}rs or down below,
     I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{'a}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-drippèn wet;
   Below the ra{'i}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{'i}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{'i}ce an' fe{'a}ce
       In pra{'y}er at eventide,
   I'll pray wi' woone sad va{'i}ce vor gre{'a}ce
       To goo where you do bide;
   Above the tree an' bough, my love,
       Where you be gone avore,
  An' be a-w{'a}itèn vor me now,
       To come vor evermwore.