Rigby hits the nail firmly on the head when he writes:-
How many rural folk songs are there that deal directly with poverty or class divisions, or which exhibit any familiarity with rural life beyond that which would have been universal at the time? Some, no doubt, like the poaching songs -- but they are dwarfed in number by the ones in which someone walks out on a May morning into a vaguely described idyll full of singing birds and skipping lambs."

Exactly! I love English folk songs and have sung hundreds of them in Folk clubs, festivals and singarounds over the decades. That so very few of them reflect my personal political position is a great disappointment. I wish there were more that said the likes of:-

..... When the constable do come,
I'll stand with me gun,
And I'll swear all I have is me own, me brave boys.
And I'll swear all I have is me own.

A bit of defiance.... a bit of edge. Something that reflects the real struggles that families had to feed themselves and much less of the likes of:-

A flaxen-headed cowboy, as simple as may be,
And next a merry plough boy, I whistled o'er the lea;
But now a saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace.

Songs that hark back to a 'Merrie England' that never existed. Songs that might appeal to a more literate, wealthier class who wanted to believe that in spite of the drudgery. hardships and hunger that the lower classes were happy with their lot. Whoever wrote these songs that do not reflect the lives of the people they are talking about, sadly, we know from the work of the collectors that many of them were taken up by the people. Songs that have a revolutionary message are largely missing from the English folk canon.
Here's the words of a song that I love very much and sing fairly often. It's called What's Old England Come To?:-

One cold winter morning as the day was dawning,
A voice came so hollow and shrill,      
The cold wind did whistle, the snow softly falling,
As a stranger came over the hill.
The clothing he wore was tatter'd and torn,
He seem'd to be bewailing and wandering all forlorn.
Lamenting the pleasures that ne'er would return
Oh! Old England, what have you come to?

He said oh, I sigh for those hearts so undeserving.
On their own native land led to stray,   
And in the midst of plenty some thousands are starving,
Neither house, food nor clothing have they
I am surrounded by poverty & can't find a friend,
My cottage it is sold from me, my joys are at an end
So like some pilgrim, my steps I onward bend
Oh! Old England, what have you come to?

There once was a time I could find friends in plenty
To feed on my bounteous store,
But friends they are few now my portion is scanty,
But Providence may open her door
It nearly breaks my heart when my cottage I behold.
It is claim'd by a villain with plenty of gold
And I passing by all shivering with cold.
Oh! Old England, what have you come to?

The Farmer and Comedian do daily assemble,
And do try their exertion and skill,
But Alas! after all on this earth they do tremble
For all trades are near standing still.
If the great god of war now should quickly on us call
I would break these chains so galling
And bravely face a ball,
For to see my babies starving it grieves me worst of all
Oh ! Old England, what have you come to?

There's Manchester and Birmingham, alas! are fell to ruin
In fact, the whole country is at a stand,
Our shipping lies in harbour and nothing is doing
While our tars are starving on the land.
'Twould break the hearts of monarch's bold, if they could rise again,
To view our desolation, would near distract the brain,
So pity a poor stranger, or death may ease my pain.
Oh ! Old England, what have you come to?

I got it from Leslie Shepherd's 1973 book The History Of Street Literature where it is reproduced in facsimilie. I managed to trace the suggested tune of Irish Stranger through Vic Gammon and it carries the powerful committed words well. In going back to the original words after about 3 decades, I find that I have made a number of unconscious changes in the less important words which seem to make the song more singable (to my mind). The Roud Broadside Index tells us that it was printed in Newcastle, London, Edinburgh, Birmingham, Manchester, Nottingham, Hull; the version in Shepherd's book is signed Swindells, Printer and in an article reproduced here written by Harry Boardman with help from Roy Palmer tells us Swindells this was located in Cathedral Yard, Manchester. The author of these words is not known; I agree that it is pejorative to call him a 'hack' and the description 'desk-bound, urban-based, notoriously bad poets' would seem to me to be a speculative description not based on any historical evidence. so let's just call him an anonymous broadside poet.
Now this broadside appeared in the city where the Peterloo Massacre took place roughly 20 years earlier. Memories of that slaughter must have still been in the mind of many of the adults. The movement that came to be known as 'Christian Socialism' was starting to emerge in the north of England at that time; the earliest time that it appeared in print was in the 1840s. Many broadside printers must have thought that there was a resonance with the population for its widespread publication. It would be useful to know how widely sung it was though we do know that it was never collected in the oral tradition!
Why?
Well, we have little evidence to base any conclusion on. We do know that 'The Barley Mow' and other convivial songs were popular at that time; it appears in William Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time (1855-1859) so it is possible that people preferred the jollity of drinking songs over one that reminds them of just how grim their plight was.