1 Over hills and high mountains, I have oftentimes been, Through hedges and broad ditches I wandered alone. There is nothing that doth grieve me, Or troubles my mind, As the leaving of my sweetheart In Paisley behind. 2 O Paisley is a fine town, It shines where it stands, The more I think on it, The more my heart warms, For if I were in Paisley, I would think myself at home, For there I have a sweetheart, But here I have none. 3 O the weavers in bonny Paisley, They are clever young blades, When they do go a-courting Of pretty young maids; They will kiss them and clap them, And spend their money free, Of all the towns in Scotland, O Paisley is for me. 4 O the lasses in bonny Paisley, They are pretty young maids, For they love the jolly weavers, And despise all other trades. And if any other tradesman Should cast a loving eye, To the arms of a jolly weaver She will suddenly fly. 5 For it is up into the Hoxieland I will build my love a bower, Where neither Duke nor Lord Shall over her have power. But if anybody ask you, "My dear, what is your name?" Tell them that I'm your jolly weaver, And your my dearest swain.
Reproduced from B. Olson, another of the old songs of that group from his bag of treasures. Scarce Songs 1