Nothing she said, but sighing sore,
Alas for bonny Annie;
She durst not own her heart was won
By the trumpeter of Fyvie.
At night when all went to their bed,
All slept full soon but Annie;
Love so oppressed her tender breast,
And love will waste her body.
Love comes in at my bed side,
And love lies down beyond me—
Love so oppressed my tender breast,
And love will waste my body.
The first time me and my love
Was in the woods of Fyvie,
His lovely form, and speech so soft,
Soon gained the heart of Annie.
He called me mistress, I said no,
I’m Tifty’s bonny Annie;
With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.
It’s up and dewn in Tifty’s glen,
Where the burn runs clear and bonnie—
I’ve often gane to meet my love,
My bonnie Andrew Lammie.
But now alas her father herd,
That the trumpeter of Fyvie
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill of Tifty’s Annie.
Her father soon a letter wrote,
