4
Her father soon a letter wrote,
And sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell the daughter was bewitch'd
By his servant, 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.
Woe be to Mill of Tifty's pride,
For it has ruined many,
They'll not have't said that she should wed,
The trumpeter of Fyvie.
In wicked art I had no part,
Nor therein am I canny,
True love alone the heart has won
Of Tifty's bonny Annie.
Where will I find a boy so kind,
That will carry a letter canny,
Who will run to Tifty's town,
Give it to my love, Annie.
Tifty he has daughters three,
Who all ⟨are wondrous bonny⟩
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the rest,
Give that to benny Annie.
It's up and down it Tifty's den
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
There wilt thou come and I'll attend,
My love I long to see thee.
