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.