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.

Wife A-Lost, The

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.

No, I’m a man, I’m vull a man,
You beat my manhood, if you can.
You’ll be a man if you can teake
All steates that household life do meake.
The love-toss’d child, a-croodlen loud,
The bwoy a-screamen wild in play,
The tall grown youth a-steppen proud,
The father staid, the house’s stay.
No ; I can boast if others can,
I’m vull a man.

A young-cheak’d mother’s tears mid vall,
When woone a-lost, not half man-tall,
Vrom little hand, a-called vrom play,
Do leave noo tool, but drop a tay,
An’ die avore he’s father-free
To sheape his life by his own plan;
An’ vull an angel he shall be,
But here on e’th not vull a man,
No; I could boast if others can,
I’m vull a man.

I woonce, a child, wer father-fed,
An’ I’ve a-vound my childern bread;
My earm, a sister’s trusty crook,
Is now a faithvul wife’s own hook;
An’ I’ve agone where vo’k did zend,
An’ gone upon my own free mind,
An’ of’en at my own wits’ end.
A-led o’ God while I were blind.
No; I could boast if others can,
I’m vull a man.

An’ still, ov all my tweil ha’ won,
My loven maid an’ merry son,
Though each in turn’s a jay an’ ceare,
‘Ve a-had, an’ still shall have, their sheare
An’ then, if God should bless their lives,
Why I mid zend vrom son to son
My life, right on drough men an’ wives,
As long, good now, as time do run.
No, I could boast if others can,
I’m vull a man.

Woone Smile Mwore

O! MARY, when the zun went down,
Woone night in spring, w’ viry rim,
Behind the nap wi’ woody crown,
An’ left your smilen face so dim;
Your little sister there, inside,
Wi’ bellows on her little knee,
Did blow the vire, a-glearen wide
Drough window-panes, that I could zee,—
As you did stan’ wi’ me, avore
The house, a-parten,—woone smile mwore.

The chatt’ren birds, a-risen high,
An’ zinken low, did swiftly vlee
Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry,
Upon the lanen apple tree.
An’ there the dog, a-whippen wide
His hairy tail, an’ comen near,
Did fondly lay agan you zide
His coal-black nose an’ russet ear:
To win what I ’d a-won avore,
Vrom your gay; face, his woone smile mwore.

An’ while your mother bustled sprack,
A-getten supper out in hall,
An’ cast her shade, a-whiv’ren black
Avore the vire, upon the wall;
Your brother come, wi’ easy pace,
In drough the slammen gate, along
The path, wi’ healthy-bloomen face,
A-whis’len shrill his last new zong:
An’ when he come avore the door,
He met vrom you his woone smile mwore.

Now you that wer the daughter there,
Be mother on a husband’s vloor,
An’ mid ye meet wi’ less o’ care
Than what your harty mother bore;
An’ if abroad I have to rue
The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed,
Mid I come hwome to share wi’ you
What ’s needvul free o’ pinchen need:
An’ vind that you ha’ still in store
My evenen meal, an’ woone smile mwore.

Hay-Meaken. Nunchen Time

A.
Back here, but now, the jobber John
Come by, an' cried, 'Well done, zing on,
I thought as I come down the hill,
An' heärd your zongs a-ringèn sh'ill,
Who woudden like to come, an' fling
A peäir o' prongs where you did zing?'
J.
Aye, aye, he woudden vind it plaÿ,
To work all day a-meäkèn hay,
Or pitchèn o't, to eärms a-spread
By lwoaders, yards above his head,
'T'ud meäke en wipe his drippèn brow.
A.
Or else a-reäkèn a'ter plow.
J.
Or workèn, wi' his nimble pick,
A-stiffled wi' the hay, at rick.
A.
Our Company would suit en best,
When we do teäke our bit o' rest,
At nunch, a-gather'd here below
The sheäde theäse wide-bough'd woak do drow,
Where hissèn froth mid rise, an' float
In horns o' eäle, to wet his droat.
J.
Aye, if his swellèn han' could drag
A meat-slice vrom his dinner bag.
'T'ud meäke the busy little chap
Look rather glum, to zee his lap
Wi' all his meal ov woone dry crowst,
An' vinny cheese so dry as dowst.
A.
Well, I dont grumble at my food,
'Tis wholesome, John, an' zoo 'tis good.
J.
Whose reäke is that a-lyèn there?
Do look a bit the woo'se vor wear.
A.
Oh! I mus' get the man to meäke
A tooth or two vor thik wold reäke,
'Tis leäbor lost to strike a stroke
Wi' him, wi' ha'f his teeth a-broke.
J.
I should ha' thought your han' too fine
To break your reäke, if I broke mine.
A.
The ramsclaws thin'd his wooden gum
O' two teeth here, an' here were zome
That broke off when I reäk'd a patch
O' groun' wi' Jimmy, vor a match:
An' here's a gap where woone or two
Wer broke by Simon's clumsy shoe,
An' when I gi'ed his poll a poke,
Vor better luck, another broke.
In what a veag have you a-swung
Your pick, though, John? His stem's a-sprung.
J.
When I an' Simon had a het
O' pookèn, yonder, vor a bet,
The prongs o'n gi'd a tump a poke,
An' then I vound the stem o'n broke,
But they do meäke the stems o' picks
O' stuff so brittle as a kicks.
A.
There's poor wold Jeäne, wi' wrinkled skin,
A-tellèn, wi' her peakèd chin,
Zome teäle ov her young days, poor soul.
Do meäke the young-woones smile. 'Tis droll.
What is it? Stop, an' let's goo near.
I do like theäse wold teäles. Let's hear.