To the Weavers Gin Ye Go
My heart was ance as blithe and freeAs simmer days were lang;But a bonie, westlin weaver ladHas 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’tHas gart me sigh and sab.To the weaver’s, &c.
A bonie, westlin weaver ladSat 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 ladConvoy’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 soonWill ken as weel’s myself!To the weaver’s, &c.