to the weavers gin ye go
my heart was ance as blithe and free
as simmer days were lang;
but a bonie, westlin weaver lad
has gart me change my sang.
chorus.—to the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,
to the weaver's gin ye go;
i rede you right, gang ne'er at night,
to the weaver's gin ye go.
my mither sent me to the town,
to warp a plaiden wab;
but the weary, weary warpin o't
has gart me sigh and sab.
to the weaver's, &c.
a bonie, westlin weaver lad
sat working at his loom;
he took my heart as wi' a net,
in every knot and thrum.
to the weaver's, &c.
i sat beside my warpin-wheel,
and aye i ca'd it roun';
but every shot and evey knock,
my heart it gae a stoun.
to the weaver's, &c.
the moon was sinking in the west,
wi' visage pale and wan,
as my bonie, westlin weaver lad
convoy'd me thro' the glen.
to the weaver's, &c.
but what was said, or what was done,
shame fa' me gin i tell;
but oh! i fear the kintra soon
will ken as weel's myself!
to the weaver's, &c.