Broadside ballad from the transition to industrial weaving in England:

I am a hand weaver to my trade I fell in love with a factory maid And if I could but her favour win I'd sit beside her and I'd weave by steam

My father to me scornful said 'How can you fancy a factory maid, When you can have lasses fine and gay And dressed like unto the Queen of May'

As for your fine girls I don't care For if I could but enjoy my dear I'd go to the factory all the day And she and I'd keep our shuttles in play

I went to my love's bedroom door Where I had been many times before But I could not speak nor yet get in To the pleasant bed where my love lay in

How can you say it's a pleasant bed When none lies there but a factory maid A factory maid though e'er she be Blessed is the man that enjoy she

[HORNY VERSE REDACTED FOR VOLCEL POLICE :volcel-judge:]

O, where are the girls I'll tell you fine They all have gone for to weave by steam And if you would catch them you must rise at dawn And trudge to the factory in the early dawn