7
If she were come of as high a kind
As she's advanced in beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her my own lady.
Fyvie lands are far and wide,
And they are wonderous bonny,
But I would not leave my own true love,
For all the lands in Fyvie.
Her father struck her wonderous sore,
As also did her mother;
Her sisters also did her scorn,
But woe be to her brother.
Her brother struck her wonderous sore,
With cruel strokes and many,
He broke her back in the hall door,
For liking Andrew Lammie.
Alas! my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie;
My heart was broken first by love,
My brother has broke my body.
O mother dear make me my bed,
And lay my face to Fyvie,
Thus will I lie, and thus will die,
For my dear Andrew Lammie.
Ye neighbours hear baith far and near,
And pity Tifty's Annie,
Who dies for love of one poor lad,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
