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.