Andrew Lammie by Martin Simpson
Andrew Lammie lyrics
At Mill o' Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
And he had a fine lovely daughter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie
Her bloom was like the springing flower
That hails the rosy morning
With innocence and grace likewise
Her lovely face adorning
Now Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie
And he had the art for to gain the heart
Of Mill o' Tifty's Annie
Proper he was, both young and gay
His like was not in Fyvie
Nor was one there that could compare
With this same Andrew Lammie
Lord Fyvie he rode by the door
Where lived this Tifty's Annie
And his trumpeter rode him before
Even this same Andrew Lammie
Her mother called her to the door
Saying, �Come here to me, my Annie
Did you ever see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?�
Nothing she said, but sighing sore
Alas for Bonnie Annie
For she dared not own that her heart was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie
At night when all went to their bed
All slept full soon but Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
Thinking on Andrew Lammie
�Oh love comes in at my bedside
And love lies down beside me
Love has possessed my tender breast
And love will waste my body
�The first time me and my love met
Twas in the woods o' Fyvie
And his lovely form and his speech so soft
Soon won the heart of Annie�
He called me �Mistress�, I said �No
I'm Tifty's Bonnie Annie�
And with apples sweet he did me treat
And kisses soft and many
But now alas her father heard
That the trumpeter o' Fyvie
Had had the urge to gain the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie
And her father soon a letter wrote
And he sent it on to Fyvie
To say his daughter was bewitched
By the servant Andrew Lammie
Then up the stairs his trumpeter
He called full soon and shortly
�Pray tell me now what is this you've done
To Mill o' Tifty's Annie?�
In wicked art I had no part
Nor therein am I canny
It was love alone the heart has won
Of Tifty's Bonnie Annie
Woe be to Mill o' Tifty's bride
For it has ruined many
They'll not have it said that she should wed
To the trumpeter o' Fyvie
�Oh Tifty, Tifty give consent
And let your daughter marry
It would be to one of a higher degree
Than the servant Andrew Lammie
�Had she been born as rich in kin
As she is rich in beauty
I would have taken the lass myself
And made her queen of Fyvie�
�Oh, Fyvie's lands are far and wide
And they are wondrous bonny
But I would not trade my own dear love
For all your lands of Fyvie�
At this her father did her scorn
And likewise did her mother
And her sisters too did her disown
But woe be to her brother
For her brother struck her wondrous sore
With cruel blows and many
And he broke her back on the temple stone
All for liking Andrew Lammie
�Oh mother, father, sisters dear
Why so cruel to your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love
Now my brother's broke my body
�Oh mother, mother oh make my bed
And turn my face to Fyvie
And it's there I'll lie and there I'll die
For the servant Andrew Lammie�
At Mill o' Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
And he had a fine lovely daughter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie
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