I am a wee weaver confined to my loom,
And my love she is fairer than the red rose in June.
She's loved by all 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 bower,
Where Willie and Mary spent many a happy hour.
Where the blackbirds and thrushes do concert and chorus,
The praises of Mary and love fair and sure.

As Willie and Mary rode by yon river side,
Said Willie to Mary: "Will you be my bride?"
This couple got married and they roam no more,
They have pleasures and treasures and love fair and sure.