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,