Her father lock'd 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,125
And reproach no more your Annie;
For I'd rather hear that cow to low,
Than ha'e a' the kine in Fyvie.
"I would not, for my braw new gown,
And a' your gifts sae many,130
That it were told in Fyvie's land
How cruel you are to Annie.
"But if ye strike me, I will cry,
And gentlemen will hear me;
Lord Fyvie will be riding by,135
And he'll 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."140
"Pray, Mill o' Tifty, gi'e consent,
And let your daughter marry."
"It will be with some higher match
Than the Trumpeter of Fyvie."
"If she were come of as high a kind145
As she's adorned with beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her mine own lady."
"It's Fyvie's lands are fair and wide,
And they are rich and bonny;150
I would not leave my own true love,
For all the lands of Fyvie."
Her father struck her wondrous sore,
And also did her mother;
Her sisters always did her scorn;155
But woe be to her brother!