Robert Burns, 1788
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 heart was ance as blythe and free
2. My mither sent me to the town,
3. A bonny, westlin weaver lad
4. I sat beside my warpin-wheel,|
And ay I ca'd it roun';
And every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.
5. The moon was sinking in the west
6. But what was said, or what was done,
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