III.
We’ll live a’ our days,
And them that come behin’,
Let them do the like,
And spend the gear they win.
Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’,
For we hae mickle ado,
Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’,
For we hae mickle ado.
CXLIV.
THE GALLANT WEAVER.
Tune—“The Weavers’ March.”
[Sent by the poet to the Museum. Neither tradition nor criticism has noticed it, but the song is popular among the looms, in the west of Scotland.]
I.
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow’r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear’d my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
II.