Classic Poem

The ore is waiting in the tubs, the snow's upon the fells;
Canny folk are sleeping yet, but lead is reet to sell.
Come, my little washer lad, come let's away,
We're bound down to slavery for fourpence a day.

It's early in the morning we rise at five o'clock,
And the little slaves come to the door to knock, knock, knock.
Come, my little washer lad, come let's away,
It's very hard to work for fourpence a day.

My father was a miner and lived down in the town,
'Twas hard work and poverty that always kept him down.
He aimed for me to go to school but brass he couldn't pay,
So I had to go to the washing rake for fourpence a day.

My mother rises out of bed with tears on her cheeks,
Puts my wallet on my shoulders which has to serve a week.
It often fills her great big heart when she unto me does say,
‘I never thought thou would have worked for fourpence a day.’

Fourpence a day, my lad, and very hard to work,
And never a pleasant look from a gruffy-looking Turk.
His conscience may it fail and his heart may it give way,
Then he'll raise us our wages to ninepence a day.