Page:Old Scotch ballad of Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tifty's Annie (2).pdf/8

Rh No kind of vice e’er stained my life, Or 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 break, And ne’er saw Andrew Lammie.

Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands, Said, alas! for Tilly’s Annie; The fairest flower cut down by him, That ever sprung in Fyvie.

Woe be to Mill of Tifty’s pride, He might have let them marry; I should have given both to live, Within the lands of Fyvie.

Her father sorely now laments The loss of his dear Annie; And wishes he had given consent, To wed with Andrew Lammie.

When Andrew name frae Edinburgh come, With muckle grief and sorrow— My love is dead for me to-day, I’ll die for her to-morrow.

Now I will run to Tifty’s den. Where the burn runs clear and bonny— With tears I’ll view the brig of Shigh, Where I parted with my Annie.