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.