The Factory Worker's Song

Come carders an' spinners an' wayvers as weel,
Stop yo'r frames an' yo'r jennies, strip roller an' creel;
Let yo'r lathes cease to swing, an' yo'r shuttles to fly,
For there's gone through owd England a leaud battle-cry,

Derry deawn !

They'n turned eaut at Ratchda' an' Owdham an' Shay
An' th' Stalybridge lads are at Ash'n to-day;
"Fair wage for fair wark" is the motto they'n chose,
An what'11 be th' upshot no mortal man knows.

Derry deawn !

Eaur mesthers are screwin' eaur noses to th' dust,
An' if we don't strike we'n no' maybe seen th' wust;
They've cheeant up eaur bodies to slavery's wheel,
And they'd sell, if we'd let 'em, eaur souls to th' deil.

Derry deawn !

................

He's mesther, an' londlort, an' baker likewise,
An' he finds me i' clooas though ne'er th' reet size;
He praiches o'th' Sunday at th' Factory Fowt Skoo,
So chus what else I'm short on I've sarmons enoo.

Derry deawn!

................

It's stop't ov a Saturday eaut o' my wage,
So I'm like an owd brid ut's shut up in a cage.
When I send deawn to th' shop for my butter an' bread,
He looks into th' wage -book to see 'ut he's paid;


I never know th' price on't it's nothin' to me,
For he tells me t' ne'er fret, I'se be straight when I dee.

...............

What's a mon if he conno' stond up in his shoon,
An' say, "I'm as free as owt else under th' moon."


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Source: 'Some Lancashire Rhymes' (ed John Mortimer), Manchester Literary Club Papers, vol.16 (1890), p.55

Abridged versions also appear in The Faber Book of Vernacular Verse (Tom Paulin) and Songs of the People: Lancashire Dialect Poetry of the Industrial Revolution (Brian Hollingworth).