No! I don't begrudge en his life,
Nor his goold, nor his housen, nor lands;
Teaeke all o't, an' gi'e me my wife,
A wife's be the cheapest ov hands.
Lie alwone! sigh alwone! die alwone!
Then be vorgot.
No! I be content wi' my lot.
Ah! where be the vingers so feaeir,
Vor to pat en so soft on the feaece,
To mend ev'ry stitch that do tear,
An' keep ev'ry button in pleaece?
Crack a-tore! brack a-tore! back a-tore!
Buttons a-vled!
Vor want ov a wife wi' her thread.
Ah! where is the sweet-perty head
That do nod till he's gone out o' zight?
An' where be the two eaerms a-spread,
To show en he's welcome at night?
Dine alwone! pine alwone! whine alwone!
Oh! what a life!
I'll have a friend in a wife.
An' when vrom a meeten o' me'th
Each husban' do leaed hwome his bride,
Then he do slink hwome to his he'th,
Wi' his eaerm a-hung down his cwold zide.
Slinken on! blinken on! thinken on!
Gloomy an' glum;
Nothen but dullness to come.
An' when he do onlock his door,
Do rumble as hollow's a drum,
An' the veaeries a-hid roun' the vloor,
Do grin vor to see en so glum.
Keep alwone! sleep alwone! weep alwone!
There let en bide,
I'll have a wife at my zide.
But when he's a-laid on his bed
In a zickness, O, what wull he do!
Vor the hands that would lift up his head,
An' sheaeke up his pillor anew.
Ills to come! pills to come! bills to come!
Noo soul to sheaere
The trials the poor wratch must bear.