Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

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.