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,