Page:Old Scottish ballad of Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tifty's Annie (1).pdf/3

 Proper he was, both young and gay,

His like was not in Fyvie,

Nor was there ane that could compare

With this same Andrew Lammie.

And Fyvie he rode by the door,

Where lived Tifty’s Annie;

His trumpeter rode him before,

Even this same Andrew Lammie.

Her mother called her to the door,

Come here to me my Annie—

Did e’er you see a prettier man

Than the trumpeter of Fyvie?

Nothing she said, but sighing sore,

Alas for bonnie 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 oppressed her tender breast,

And love will waste her body.

Love comes in at my bed-side,

And love lies down beyond me—

Love so opprest my tender breast,

And love will waste my body.

The first time me and my love

Were in the woods of Fyvie,

His lovely form and speech so soft

Soon gained the heart of Annie.

He called me mistress, I said no,

I’m Tifty’s bonnie Annie;

With apples sweet he did me treat,

And kisses soft and many.