4
Her father soon a letter wrote.
And sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell his daughter was bewitched
By his servant, Andrew Lammie.
Then up the stair his trumpeter,
He called soon and shortly,
Pray tell me soon what's this you've done,
To Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Woe be to Mill of Tiftie's pride,
For it has ruined many,
They'll not have't said that she should wed
The trumpeter of Fyvie.
In wicked art I had no part,
Nor therein am I canny,
True love alone the heart has won
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Where will I find a boy so kind,
That will carry a letter canny,
Who will run to Tiftie's town,
Give it to my love Annie.
Tifty he has daughters three,
Who all are wonderous bonnie,
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the rest,
Give that to bonny Annie.
It's up and down it Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonnie,
There wilt thou come and I'll attend,
My love I long to see thee.
