Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tiftie's Annie (1800)

For other versions of this work, see Andrew Lammie.

ANDREW LAMMIE,

OR,

Mill of Tiftie's Annie.

This Tragedy was Acted in The
Year 1674.

Edinburgh, printed by J. Morren.

ANDREW LAMMIE

AT Mill o' Tiftie liv'd a man,
in the neighbourhood of Fyvie,
He had a lovely daughter fair
was ca l'd a bonny Annie
Her bloom ⟨was⟩ like the springing ⟨flower⟩
that salutes the rosy morning
With innocence a graceful mien,
her beauteous from adorning.

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
whose name was Andrew Lammie,
He had the art to gain the heart,
Of Mil of Tiftie's Annie
Proper he was both young gay,
his like a not in Fyvie.
No one was there that cou d compare
with this same Andrew Lammie.

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door,
where lived Tiftie's Annie,
His tumpeter rode him before.
even this same Andrew Lammie,
Her mother call'd her to the door,
come here to me my Annie
Did ever you see a prettier man,
then this trumpeter of Fyvie.

Nothing she said but sighed sore,
alas! for bonny Annie,
She durst not own her heart was ⟨wore,⟩
by the trumpeter of Fyvie.
⟨At⟩ night when they went to their beds
I slept full sound but Annie
(illegible text)ve to opprest her tender breast,
⟨Thinking⟩ on Andrew Lammie.

⟨Love⟩ comes in at my bed-side.
and loves ⟨her⟩ down beyond me
⟨Love⟩ has possest my tender breast,
and love will waste my body.
⟨The⟩ ⟨first⟩ time I and my love met,
⟨'Twas⟩ in the wood of Fyvie.
⟨His⟩ comely frame, his speech so soft,
soon gain'd the heart of Annie.

(illegible text) called me mistress I said no,
I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie,
⟨With⟩ apples sweet he did me treat,
and kisses soft and many
(illegible text)s up and down Tiftie's den,
where the burn runs clear and bouny.
⟨I've⟩ often gone to meet my love,
my bouny Andrew Lammie.

⟨But⟩ now alas! her father heard,
that the trumpeter of Fyvie,
⟨Had⟩ the art to gain the heart,
of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
⟨Her⟩ father soon a letter wrote,
and sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell his daughter was bewitch,
by his servant Andrew Lammie.

When Lord Fyvie had this letter read,
O dear! but he was sorry:
The bonniest lass in Fyvie's land,
is bewitch'd by Andrew Lammie.
Then up the stair this trumpeter,
he calls soon and shortly
Pray tell me soon what's this you've done,
to Tiftie's bonny annie.

Woe betide Mill of Tiftie's pride,
for it has ruin'd many,
He'd not have it said, that she should wed,
the trumpeter of Fyvie.
In wicked art I had no part,
not therein am I canny,
True love alone the heart has won,
of Tiftie's bonny annie,

Where will I find a boy so kind,
that will carry a letter canny,
Who will run on to Tiftie's town,
give it to my love annie,
Here ye shall and a boy so kind,
who will carry a letter canny,
That will run on to Tiftie's town,
and give it to thy love annie.

Tiftie he has daughters three,
who all are wond'rous bonny,
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the lave,
give that to bonny annie
It's up and down in Tiftie's den,
where the burn runs clear and bonny,
There wilt thou come and meet thy love,
thy bonny andrew Lammie

When wilt thou come and I'll attend,
my love I long to see thee,
Thou may'st come to the bridge of Sheugh,
and there I'll come and meet thee.
My love I go to Edinburgh,
and for a white must leave thee,
⟨She⟩ sigh'd sore, and said no more,
but I wish I were with thee.

⟨I'll⟩ buy to thee a bridal gown,
my love I'll buy it bonny,
⟨But⟩ I'll be dead ere ye come back,
to see your bonny Angie
⟨If⟩ you'll be true and constant too,
as I am Andrew Lammie,
⟨I⟩ shall thee wed when I come back
to see the lands of Fyvie.

⟨I⟩ will be true and constant too,
to thee my Andrew Lammie,
⟨But⟩ my bridal bed ere then'll be made,
in the green church yard of Fyvie,
Our time is gone, and now comes on,
my dear that I must leave thee,
(illegible text) longer here I should appear,
mill o' Tiftie he would see me.

⟨I⟩ now forever bid adieu,
to thee my Andrew Lammie,
⟨Are⟩ ye come back, I will be laid,
in the green church-yard of Fyvie.
⟨He⟩ hied him to the head of the the house
to the house-top of Fyvie,
⟨He⟩ blew his trumpet loud and shrill,
'twas heard at Mill o Tiftie:

⟨Her⟩ father lock'd the door at night,
laid up the keys fu' canny,
⟨And⟩ when he heard the trumpet sound,
said your cow is lowing Annie.
My father dear I pray forbear
and reproach no more your Annie,
For I'd rather hear that cow to low,
then have all the kine of Fyvie.

I wou'd not for my braw new gown,
and all your gift so many
That it were told in Fyvie's land,
how cruel you're to Annie.
But if ye strike me, I will cry,
and gentlemen will hear me,
Lord Fyvie ⟨will⟩ be riding by,
and he'd 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,
Pray Mill o' Tiftie give consent,
and let your daughter marry,
"It shall be with some higher match,
"than the trumpeter of Fyvie."

If she were come of as high kind,
as she's adorn'd with beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
and make her my own lady.
Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,
and they are rich and bonny,
I would not leave my own true love,
for all the lands of Fyvie,

Her father struck her wonderous sore,
as also did her mother,
Her sisters always did her scorn,
but woe be to her brother,
Her brother struck her wonderous sore
with cruel strokes and many
He brake her back in the hal door,
for liking Andrew Lammie

Alas i my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie,
My heart was broken first by love,
my brother has broken my body.
Mother dear make ye my bed,
and lay my face to Fyvie
Thus will I ly and thus will die,
for my love Andrew Lammie.

Ye neighbours here both far and near,
Ye pity Tiftie's Annie,
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,
but death will me exhonour.

Her mother then she made her bed,
and laid her face to Fyvie
Her lovely heart it soon did break,
and ne'er saw Andrew Lammie.
But the word soon went up and down,
through all the lands of Fyvie,
That she was dead and buried,
even Tiftie's bonny Annie,

Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,
said alas! for Tiftie's Annie,
The fairest flower's cut down by love,
that ever sprung in Fyvie
Woe be to Mill o' Tiftie's pride,
he might have let them marry,
I should have given both to live,
into the lands of Fyvie.

Her father surely now laments
the loss of his dear Annie,
And wishes he had given consent
to wed with Andrew Lammie.
But now alas it was too late,
for be connot recal her.
Thro' life unhappy is his fate,
because he did controul her.

When Andrew home from Edinburgh came
with meikle grief and sorrow,
My love is dead tor me to day,
I'll die for her the morrow,
Now I will on to Fyvie's den,
where the ⟨burn⟩ runs clear and bonny,
With texts I'll view the briggs of Sheugh
where I parted last with Annie,

Then will I speed to the church yary,
to the green church yard of Fyvie,
With tears I'll water my love's gr.ve,
till I follow Tiftie's Annie.
Ye parents grave, who children have,
in crushing them be canny,
Lest when too late ye do repent
remember Tiftie's Annie

FINIS.