The Wee Weaver

I am the wee weaver, confined to my loom
And my love she is fairer, than the red rose in bloom
She is loved by all the young men, and that does grieve me
There's a heart in my bosom, for lovely Mary

As Willie and Mary rode by yon shady bough
Where Willie and Mary spent manys the happy hour
Where the blackbirds and thrushes do concert and chorus
The praise of Mary and love fair and sure

As Mary and Willie rode by yon river side
Says Willie unto Mary will you be my bride
This couple got married and they rode no more
They have pleasure and treasure, and love fair and sure