Thomas Hood wrote "The Song of the Shirt" in 1843, in honor of a widow and seamstress named Mrs. Biddell. The poem's speaker listens as a poor seamstress sings to herself as she works. Through this song, Hood exposes the inhumane conditions of England's working poor, showing how poverty forces workers into extreme and intolerable conditions. The speaker seems to believe that if others could hear the "Song of the Shirt," they might do something to help these impoverished workers—and in fact, Hood's poem did help raise awareness around the struggles of the working class.
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1With fingers weary and worn,
2With eyelids heavy and red,
3A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
4Plying her needle and thread—
5Stitch! stitch! stitch!
6In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
7And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
8She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
9"Work! work! work!
10While the cock is crowing aloof!
11And work—work—work,
12Till the stars shine through the roof!
13It's O! to be a slave
14Along with the barbarous Turk,
15Where woman has never a soul to save,
16If this is Christian work!
17"Work—work—work
18Till the brain begins to swim;
19Work—work—work
20Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
21Seam, and gusset, and band,
22Band, and gusset, and seam,
23Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
24And sew them on in a dream!
25"O, Men, with Sisters dear!
26O, Men! with Mothers and Wives!
27It is not linen you're wearing out,
28But human creatures' lives!
29Stitch—stitch—stitch,
30In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
31Sewing at once with a double thread,
32A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
33"But why do I talk of Death?
34That Phantom of grisly bone,
35I hardly fear its terrible shape,
36It seems so like my own—
37It seems so like my own,
38Because of the fasts I keep;
39Oh! God! that bread should be so dear,
40And flesh and blood so cheap!
41"Work—work—work!
42My Labour never flags;
43And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
44A crust of bread—and rags.
45That shatter'd roof—and this naked floor—
46A table—a broken chair—
47And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
48For sometimes falling there!
49"Work—work—work!
50From weary chime to chime,
51Work—work—work!
52As prisoners work for crime!
53Band, and gusset, and seam,
54Seam, and gusset, and band,
55Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
56As well as the weary hand.
57"Work—work—work,
58In the dull December light,
59And work—work—work,
60When the weather is warm and bright—
61While underneath the eaves
62The brooding swallows cling
63As if to show me their sunny backs
64And twit me with the spring.
65"O! but to breathe the breath
66Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
67With the sky above my head,
68And the grass beneath my feet
69For only one short hour
70To feel as I used to feel,
71Before I knew the woes of want
72And the walk that costs a meal!
73"O! but for one short hour!
74A respite however brief!
75No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
76But only time for Grief!
77A little weeping would ease my heart,
78But in their briny bed
79My tears must stop, for every drop
80Hinders needle and thread!"
81With fingers weary and worn,
82With eyelids heavy and red,
83A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
84Plying her needle and thread—
85Stitch! stitch! stitch!
86In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
87And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—
88Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
89She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
1With fingers weary and worn,
2With eyelids heavy and red,
3A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
4Plying her needle and thread—
5Stitch! stitch! stitch!
6In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
7And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
8She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
9"Work! work! work!
10While the cock is crowing aloof!
11And work—work—work,
12Till the stars shine through the roof!
13It's O! to be a slave
14Along with the barbarous Turk,
15Where woman has never a soul to save,
16If this is Christian work!
17"Work—work—work
18Till the brain begins to swim;
19Work—work—work
20Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
21Seam, and gusset, and band,
22Band, and gusset, and seam,
23Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
24And sew them on in a dream!
25"O, Men, with Sisters dear!
26O, Men! with Mothers and Wives!
27It is not linen you're wearing out,
28But human creatures' lives!
29Stitch—stitch—stitch,
30In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
31Sewing at once with a double thread,
32A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
33"But why do I talk of Death?
34That Phantom of grisly bone,
35I hardly fear its terrible shape,
36It seems so like my own—
37It seems so like my own,
38Because of the fasts I keep;
39Oh! God! that bread should be so dear,
40And flesh and blood so cheap!
41"Work—work—work!
42My Labour never flags;
43And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
44A crust of bread—and rags.
45That shatter'd roof—and this naked floor—
46A table—a broken chair—
47And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
48For sometimes falling there!
49"Work—work—work!
50From weary chime to chime,
51Work—work—work!
52As prisoners work for crime!
53Band, and gusset, and seam,
54Seam, and gusset, and band,
55Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
56As well as the weary hand.
57"Work—work—work,
58In the dull December light,
59And work—work—work,
60When the weather is warm and bright—
61While underneath the eaves
62The brooding swallows cling
63As if to show me their sunny backs
64And twit me with the spring.
65"O! but to breathe the breath
66Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
67With the sky above my head,
68And the grass beneath my feet
69For only one short hour
70To feel as I used to feel,
71Before I knew the woes of want
72And the walk that costs a meal!
73"O! but for one short hour!
74A respite however brief!
75No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
76But only time for Grief!
77A little weeping would ease my heart,
78But in their briny bed
79My tears must stop, for every drop
80Hinders needle and thread!"
81With fingers weary and worn,
82With eyelids heavy and red,
83A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
84Plying her needle and thread—
85Stitch! stitch! stitch!
86In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
87And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—
88Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
89She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work—work—work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's O! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work—work—work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"O, Men, with Sisters dear!
O, Men! with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch—stitch—stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
"But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own—
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh! God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
"Work—work—work!
My Labour never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread—and rags.
That shatter'd roof—and this naked floor—
A table—a broken chair—
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!
"Work—work—work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work—work—work!
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.
"Work—work—work,
In the dull December light,
And work—work—work,
When the weather is warm and bright—
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
"O! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!
"O! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—
Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
Mrs. Biddell and the Victorian Court — Learn more about the historical context of "The Song of the Shirt," from a website dedicated to Charles Dickens and his society.
Workhouses and the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834 — Discover the legislation that subjected people like Mrs. Biddell, who inspired "The Song of the Shirt," to horrible experiences in Victorian workhouses.
Punch Magazine — Learn more about the magazine in which Hood originally published "The Song of the Shirt."
Richard Redgrave's "The Sempstress" — Take a look at a painting inspired by "The Song of the Shirt."
"The Song of the Shirt" Read Aloud — Listen to a recording of the poem.
Musical rendition of "The Song of the Shirt" — Hear one artist turn "The Song of the Shirt" into a musical song.
Biography of Thomas Hood — Read about the poet who wrote "The Song of the Shirt."
"It is not the linen you're wearing out, But human creatures lives" — This painting by Beatrice Offor borrows a quote from "The Song of the Shirt" in its title.