Burns and his works are celebrated worldwide, and he’s the best-known of the Scottish poets who’ve written in the Scots language. Many times, it is unknown as to whether Burns wrote any given poem or reworked an existing poem. In this case, his note to the Scots Musical Museum was, “The chorus of this song is old, the rest is mine.” And off the record, the “bonie, westlin weaver lad” is said to have been one of the rivals of the poet in the affection of a westland lady. The song tells a charming, innocent-enough story about a young lady whose heart goes a’pitter-patter for the handsome local weaver-lad. The singer’s warning - if you’re going to the weaver’s, don’t go at night!…

Lyrics

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. Tae the weaver’s gin ye go fair maid, tae the weaver’s gin ye go. I rede ye right, gang ne’er at night, tae 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. Tae the weaver’s gin ye go…

A bonie, westlin weaver lad sat working at his loom. He took my heart as wi’ a net in every knot and thrum. Tae the weaver’s gin ye go…

I sat beside my warpin-wheel, and aye I ca’d it roun’. But every shot and every knock, my heart it gae a stoun. Tae the weaver’s gin ye…

The moon was sinking in the west wi’ visage pale and wan as my bonie, westlin weaver lad convoy’d me thro’ the glen. Tae the weaver’s gin ye go…

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. Tae the weaver’s gin ye go fair maid, &c

ance–once, simmer–summer, lang-long, bonie–handsome, westlin–westland, gart–compelled, sang-song, gin–if, rede–advise, gang–go, mither–mother, warp–weave, plaiden wab–plaid cloth, o’t–of it, sab–sob, wi’–with, thrum–frayed end, aye–ever, ca’d–turned, gae–gave, stoun–pang, convoy’d–escorted, thro’–through, fa’–befall, kintra–country, ken–know, weel’s–well as