| When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
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| When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
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| My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
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| And wherever I go, here’s the jolly bold weaver again
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| I’m a hand weaver to my trade
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| I fell in love with a factory maid
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| And if I could but her favour win
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| I’d stand beside her and weave by steam
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| My father to me scornful said
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| How could you fancy a factory maid
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| When you could have girls fine and gay
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| Dressed like unto the Queen of May
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| As for your fine girls I don’t care
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| If I could but enjoy my dear
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| I’d stand in the factory all the day
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| And she and I’d keep our shuttles in play
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| I went to my love’s bedroom door
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| Where often times I had been before
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| But I could not speak nor yet get in
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| The pleasant bed that my love laid in
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| How can you say it’s a pleasant bed
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| Where nowt lies there but a factory maid?
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| A factory lass although she be
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| Blest in the man that enjoys she
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| O pleasant thoughts come to my mind
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| As I turn doen the sheets so fine
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| And I seen her two breasts standing so
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| Like two white hills all covered with snow
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| The loom goes click and the loom goes clack
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| The shuttle flies forward and then flies back
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| The weaver’s so bent that he’s like to crack
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| Such a wearisome trade is the weaver’s
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| The yarn is made into cloth at last
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| The ends of west they are made quite fast
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| The weaver’s labour are now all past
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| Such a wearisome trade is the weaver’s
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| Where are the girls I will tell you plain
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| The girls have gone to weave by steam
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| And if you’d find them you must rise at dawn
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| And trudge to the mill in the early morn
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| When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
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| When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
|
| My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
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| And wherever I go, here’s the jolly bold weaver again |