Andrew Lammie

In Mills o' Tifty there lived a man,

 In the neighbourhood of Fyvie,

 And he had a lovely daughter fair;

 Her name was Bonny Annie.

 Lord Fyvie, he had a trumpeter;

 His name was Andrew Lammie.

 He had the art tae win the heart 

 Of Mills o' Tifty's Annie.

 Her mother she called her to the bower

 'Come here to me my Annie.

 Did e'er you see a fairer man

 Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?'

 At night when all were to their beds,

 They slept on sound but Annie,

 For love oppressed her tender breast

 Thinking of Andrew Lammie.

 'Well it's up and down Lord Tifty's Glen,

 Where the burn runs free and bonnie,

 I oft ha' gan to meet my love,

 My own dear Andrew Lammie.'

 Then he's climbed to the hills so high,

 To the hills so high o'er Fyvie,

 And he blew his trumpet loud and shrill,

 Twas heard in Mills o' Tifty.

 Her father he beat her wondrous sore,

 And also did her mother.

 Her sisters they did scorn as well,

 But woe betide her brother.

 For her brother he beat her wondrous sore

 With cruel blows and many.

 He broke her back against a door

 For having Andrew Lammie.

 Oh mother dear, Go make my bedAnd lay my face to Fyvie;

 For it's there I'll lie and there I'll die

 For the sake of Andrew Lammie.