208. Song—To 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.



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.

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