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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,
