6
He hied him to the head of the house,
To the house top of Fyvie,
He blew his trumpet loud and shrill,
It was heard at Mill of Tifty.
Her father locked the door at night,
Laid by the keys fu’ canny,
But when he heard the trumpet sound,
Said your cow is lowing Annie.
My father dear, I pray forbear,
Reproach me not so angry,
I'd rather hear that cow to low,
Than all the kye in Fyvie.
I would not for my braw new gown,
For all the gifts you gave me,
That it was told in Fyvie land,
How cruel you are to Fyvie.
But if you strike me I will cry.
Wha’s passing by will hear me,
Lord Fyvie will be coming by,
So he’ll come in and see me.
Just at that time the lord come in.
He said, what ails thee honey?
It’s all for love now I must die,
For the trumpeter of Fyvie
Pray Mill of Tifty give consent,
So let your daughter marry;
It will be with some higher match,
Than the trumpeter of Fyvie.
