They are up in the morning right early,
They are up sometimes afore leet;
Aw hear their clogs they are clamping,
As t’ little things goes dahn the street.

They are off in the morning right early,
With their baskets o’ jock on their arms;
The bell is ting-tonging, ting-tonging,
As they enter the mill in a swarm.

They are skarpring backward and forward,
Their ends to keep up if they can;
They are doing their utmost endeavours,
For fear o’ the frown o’ man.

Wi’ fingers so nimble and supple,
They twist, an’ they twine, an’ they twirl,
Such walking, an’ running, an’ kneeling,
As the wee little factory girl.

They are bouncing abaht like a shuttle,
They are kneeling an’ rubbing the floor;
While their wee little mates they are doffing,
Preparing the spindles for more.

Them two little things they are thickest,
They help one another ’tis plain;
They try to be best and the quickest,
The smiles o’ their master to gain.

And now from her ten hours’ labour,
Back to her cottage sho shogs;
Aw hear by the tramping and singing,
’Tis the factory girl in her clogs.

An’ at night when sho’s folded i’ slumber,
Sho’s dreaming o’ noises and drawls;
Of all human toil under-rated,
’Tis our poor little factory girls.