Tae the Weaver's 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.

Tae the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,
Tae the weaver's gin ye go;
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night,
Tae the weaver's gin ye go.

My mither sent me tae the town,
Tae warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.


A bonie, westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.


I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And aye I ca'd it roun';
But every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.


The moon was sinking in the west,
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonie, westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.


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!