Текст: Craig Herbertson. A Health to the Ladies. Andrew Lammie.

By Mill o Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood o' Fyvie
He had a lovely daughter fair
And they called her bonnie Annie

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie
And he had the art to gain the heart
O' Mill o' Tyfty's Annie

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door
Where lived Tifty's Annie
His trumpeter rode him before
Even this same Andrew Lammie

Her mother cried her to the door
Come here to me my Annie
Did ye ever see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie

Ah nothing she said but sighed fu sore
'Twas alas for bonnie Annie
For she durst not own her heart was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie

But at night when a' goes to beds
All sleep true sound but Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
And love will wast her body

The first time me and my love met

Was in the woods o' Fyvie
He called me mistress I said no
I'm Mill o' Tyfty's Annie

My love I go to Edinburgh toon
And for a while mon leave ye
O' but I'll be dede afore your return
In the green kirkyard o' Fyvie

Her father struck her wondrous sore
And likewise did her mother
Her sisters all so did her scorn
But woe be to her brother

Her brother struck her wondrous sore
With cruel strokes and many
For he broke her back under the temple stein
The temple stein o' Fyvie

O' mother dear now make my bed
And lay my face to'erd Fyvie
For I will lie and I will die
For love o Andrew Lammie

Her mother she gang make her bed
And laid her face to?erd Fyvie
And its there she lay and its there she died
For Love o Andrew Lammie