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' sheäke up his pillor anew.
Ills to come! pills to come! bills to come!
Noo soul to sheäre
The trials the poor wratch must bear.