Wi' faïth an' love, our païn an' ceäre,
We shan't vind missèn jaÿs a-lost,
Though we be crost—O Meärianne.
But all a-took to heav'n, an' stow'd
Where we can't weäste em on the road,
As we do wander to an' fro,
Down here below—My Meärianne.
But there be jaÿs I'd soonest choose
To keep, vrom them that I must lose;
Your workzome hands to help my tweil,