| lyric | 1. The weaver's wife sits at the fire
And works the pirnwheel.
She likes to hear her own good man
Drive on the shuttle weel.
Ref.: The shuttle rins, the shuttle rins,
the shuttle rins wi’ speed.;
Oh sweetly may the shuttle rin,
That rins the bairn’s bread.
2. Thread after thread maks up the claith,
Until the wage he wins,
And ilka weaver maks the mair,
The mair his shuttle rins.
3. He rises early in the mom,
He toils till late at night,
He fain would independent be,
He knows what is his right.
4. The proudest o’ the land would pine
Without the weaver’s wark;
The pampered priest, the haughty peer,
Would go without a sark. |