Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William & Mary Howitt) vol.3 #55 (15 Jan 1848).
Make her work harder, she is but a milliner;
How can she complain hard work is killing her?
Aged seventeen, and in a consumption!
Some law should be made to punish presumption.
Make her work harder; her mother, poor creature,
Is paralytic in each limb and feature;
In such a condition, she should be willing
To work day and night, to obtain but a shilling.
Make her work harder; she dwells in a kitchen,
And people who live by their hemming and stitching,
Must keep on working for breakfast and dinner,
Or go without clothes, and get thinner and thinner.
Harder they made her work, harder than ever,
Then came across her path a practised deceiver,
One young and wealthy, who smiling upon her,
First gained her affections, and then her dishonour!
Of course he forsook her; a creature so tender,
Who in this wide world would care to defend her?
Down with her, down with her! lower and lower,
In a very weeks her old mother wont know her.
Bright are her young eyes, delighting beholders,
Her hair falls in ringlets over her shoulders;
Down with her, down with her! lower and lower!
Till only the vilest acknowledge they know her.
God! what a wreck of a creature so dutiful!
God! what a wreck of a creature so beautiful!
Purchase a shroud, her pale face to tie in;
Take her away! the victim is dying!