Here, it will be observed, beyond the expression, 'my merry-men all,' there is no trace of the phraseology so marked in the group of ballads under our notice. Take, also, a ballad which, from the occurrences referred to, may be considered as antecedent to the epoch of _Hardyknute_, and we shall observe an equal, if not more complete, absence of the phraseology and manner of this class of ballads. It relates to a tragic love-story of 1631, as ascertained from the grave-stone of the heroine in the kirk-yard of Fyvie, Aberdeenshire: Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter, His name was Andrew Lammie; He had the art to gain the heart Of Mill-o'-Tifty's Annie. * * * She sighed sore, but said no more, Alas, for bonny Annie! She durst not own her heart was won By the trumpeter of Fyvie. At night when they went to their beds, All slept full sound but Annie; Love so opprest her tender breast, Thinking on Andrew Lammie. 'Love comes in at my bed-side, And love lies down beyond me, Love has possessed my tender breast, And wastes away my body. 'At Fyvie yetts there grows a flower, It grows baith braid and bonny; There is a daisy in the midst o' it. And it's ca'd by Andrew Lammie. 'O gin that flower were in my breast, For the love I bear the laddie, I wad kiss it, and I wad clap it, And daut it for Andrew Lammie. 'The first time I and my love met Was in the woods of Fyvie; His lovely form and speech so sweet Soon gained the heart of Annie. 'Oh, up and down, in Tifty's den, Where the burns run clear and bonny, I've often gone to meet my love, My bonny Andrew Lammie. 'He kissed my lips five thousand times, And aye he ca'd me bonny; And a' the answer he gat frae me, Was, "My bonny Andrew Lammie!"' But now, alas! her father heard That the trumpeter of Fyvie Had had the art to gain the heart Of Tifty's bonny Annie. And he has syne a letter wrote, And sent it on to Fyvie, To tell his daughter was bewitched By his servant, Andrew Lammie. When Lord Fyvie this letter read, O dear, but he was sorry; 'The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land Is bewitched by Andrew Lammie.' Then up the stair his trumpeter He called soon and shortly; 'Pray tell me soon what's this you've done To Tifty's bonny Annie?' 'In wicked art I had no part, Nor therein am I canny; True love alone the heart has won Of Tifty's bonny Annie. 'Woe betide Mill-o'-Tifty's pride, For it has ruined many; He'll no hae't said that she should wed The trumpeter of Fyvie.' * * * 'Love, I maun gang to Edinburgh; Love, I maun gang and leave thee.' She sighed sore, and said no more, But, 'Oh, gin I were wi' ye!'