Since I noo mwore do zee your feä ce,
Up steä irs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleä 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-drippen wet;
Below the rä in-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 vaï ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avvword,
A-yield 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 vaï ce an' feä ce
In praÿ er at eventide,
I'll praÿ wi' woone sad vaï ce vor greä ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
To come vor evermwore.