"I now for ever bid adieu To thee, my Andrew Lammie; Ere ye come back, I will be laid 115 In the green churchyard of Fyvie." He hied him to the head of the house, To the house top of Fyvie; He blew his trumpet loud and schill; 'Twas heard at Mill o' Tiftie. 120 Her father lock'd the door at night, Laid by the keys fu' canny; And when he heard the trumpet sound, Said, "Your cow is lowing, Annie." "My father dear, I pray forbear, 125 And reproach no more your Annie; For I'd rather hear that cow to low, Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie. "I would not, for my braw new gown, And a' your gifts sae many, 130 That it were told in Fyvie's land How cruel you are to Annie. "But if ye strike me, I will cry, And gentlemen will hear me; Lord Fyvie will be riding by, 135 And he'll come in and see me." At the same time, the Lord came in; He said, "What ails thee, Annie?" "'Tis all for love now I must die, For bonny Andrew Lammie." 140 "Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent, And let your daughter marry." "It will be with some higher match Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie." "If she were come of as high a kind 145 As she's adorned with beauty, I would take her unto myself, And make her mine own lady." "It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide, And they are rich and bonny; 150 I would not leave my own true love, For all the lands of Fyvie." Her father struck her wondrous sore, And also did her mother; Her sisters always did her scorn; 155 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. 160 "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, 165 And lay my face to Fyvie; Thus will I ly, and thus will die, For my love, Andrew Lammie! "Ye neighbours, hear, both far and near; Ye pity Tiftie's Annie, 170 Who dies for love of one poor lad, For bonny Andrew Lammie. "No kind of vice e'er stain'd my life, Nor hurt my virgin honour; My youthful heart was won by love, 175 But death will me exoner."