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 weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;
I rede you right, gang neer at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.
My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin ot
Has gart me sigh and sab.
To the weavers, &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 weavers, &c.
I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And aye I cad it roun;
But every shot and evey knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.
To the weavers, &c.
The moon was sinking in the west,
Wi visage pale and wan,
As my bonie, westlin weaver lad
Convoyd me thro the glen.
To the weavers, &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 weels myself!
To the weavers, &c.