You gentles of England, I pray give attention
Unto those few lines, I’m going to relate,
Concerning the sempstress, I’m going to mention,
Who long time has been, in a sad wretched state,
Laboriously toiling, both night, noon, and morning,
For a wretched subsistance, now mark what I say,
Quite unprotected, forlorn, and dejected,
For sixpence, eightpence, or tenpence a day.

The wages that’s paid to the hardworking sempstress
Keeps them in wretchedness, sorrow, and debt,
They scarecely can earn, a temporary subsistance,
Which causes the beauty of Britain to fret,
From daylight till dark, she works brisk at her needle,
The fruits of her labour, is all she desires,
Pay her, her rights, and she never will murmer,
Justice and mercy is all she requires.

The sempstress, for charity, never was craving,
The sweat of her fingers, is her sole delight,
There once was a time, she could live and be saving,
But long on her labour, there has been a blight,
Come forward you nobles, and grant them assistance
Give them employ, and a fair price them pay.
And then you will find, the poor hard working sempstress,
From honour and virtue will not go astray.

To shew them compassion pray quickly be stirring,
In delay, there is danger, there’s no time to spare,
Their heads they are drooping, come forward and cheer them,
The pride of the world is o’er whelmed with care,
Old England’s considered, for honour and virtue,
And beauty the glory and pride of the world,
Nor be not hesitating, but boldly step forward,
Suppression and tyranny, far away hurl.