I'm a hand weaver, to me trade
I fell in love with a factory maid
And if I could but a favour win
My father to me, scornful, said
How can you fancy a factory maid?
Dressed like on to the Queen of the May
Oh well, it's as for you fine girls
I don't care for if I could,
I'd stand in the factory all the day
And she and I'd keep our shovels in play
I went to my love's bedroom door,
where often times I had been before
But I could not sleep nor yet get in
the pleasant bed that me love laid in
How can you say it's a pleasant bed,
is the man who enjoys she
For it's so pleasant thoughts
As I turn down the sheets of fine,
and I see her two breasts standing so,
like two white hills all covered in snow
Where are the young girls?
the girls have gone to Weaveby Steam
And if you should find them
and trudge to the mill in the early morn