I’m a little embarrassed about liking 19th-century music. I like its lack of irony. 19th century songs were sentimental, obscene, comic, and odd, but never half-hearted.
Here’s one from the fallen-woman genre. It probably comes from the music hall stage; I learned it from the singing of Julia Friend.
See how those London lights are gleaming
Through the frost and falling snow
Sleep on, sleep on, my blue-eyed treasure
Your mother’s got nowhere to go.