That I do miss when I do goo
To zee the pleäce, an' walk down drough
The lwonesome woody hollow?
When wrongs an' overbearèn words
Do prick my bleedèn heart lik' swords,
Then I do try, vor Christes seäke,
To think o' you, sweet days! an' meäke
My soul as 'twer when you did weäke
My childhood's eyes, an' when, if spite
Or grief did come, did die at night