Page:Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tiftie's Annie (2).pdf/3

 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 opprest her tender breast,

Thinking on Andrew Lammie.

Love comes in at my bed side,

And love lies down beyond me,

Love so oppress'd 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 oft,

Soon gain'd the heart of Annie.

He call'd me mistress, I said no,

I'm Tifty's bonny Annie,

With apples sweet be did me treat,

And kisses soft and mony.

It's up and down in Tifty'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 Tifty's Annie.