3
Nothing she said, but sighing sore,
Alas! for bonnie 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 met,
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 Tiftie's bonny Annie;
With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.
It's up and down in Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
I've often gane to meet my love,
My bonny Andrew Lammie.
But now, alas! her father heard,
That the trumpeter of Fyvie,
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill of Tiftie's Annie.
