Page:Mill o' Tiftie's Annie, or, Andrew Lammie, the trumpeter of Fyvie (2).pdf/8



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“It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide And they are rich and bonnie; I would not leave my own true love For all the lands of Fyvie."

Her father struck her wondrous sore, As also did her mother; Her sisters always did her scorn; But woe be to her brother.

Her brother struck her wondrous sore, With cruel strokes and many; He brake her back in the hall door, For liking Andrew Lammie.

"Alas! my father and mother dear,           Why so cruel to your Annie?          My heart was broken first by love,            My brother has broken my body.

“O mother dear, make ye my bed, And lay my face to Fyvie; Thus will I lie, and thus will die, For my love, Andrew Lammie.

“Ye neighbours hear, both far and near, Ye pity Tiftie's Annie, Who dies for love of one poor lad, For bonnie Andrew Lammie.

“No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life, Nor hurt my virgin honour; My youthful heart was won by love, But death will me exoner."

Her mother then she made her bed, And laid her face to Fyvie; Her tender heart it soon did brake, And ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.