Page:Old Scottish ballad of Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tifty's Annie (1).pdf/8

 Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,

Said, Alas! for Tifty’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 hame frae Edinburgh came

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 bonnie—

With tears I’ll view the brig of Shigh,

Where I parted with my Annie.