He hied him to the head of the house,
To the House top of Fyvie,
He blew his trumpet loud and shrill.
It was heard at Mill of Tifty.
Her father locked the door at night,
Laid by 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 not your Annie—
I’d rather hear that cow low.
Than all the kye in Fyvie.
I would not for my braw new gown,
And all your gifts so many,
That it was told in Fvvie land
How cruel you are to Annie.
But if you strike me I will cry,
And gentlemen will hear me—
Lord Fyvie will be riding by,
And he’ll come in and see me.
At the same time the lord came in,
He said, what ails thee, Annie?
It’s all for love now I must die,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
Pray Mill of ⟨Tifty⟩ give consent.
And let your daughter marry;
It will be with some higher match
Than the trumpeter of Fyvie.
