O Bonny Lassie/Tullochgorum
TULLOCHGORUM.
Come gie's a sang the lady cried,
And lay your disputes a' aside
What signifies for folks to chide,
For what's been done before 'em?
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To drop their Whig megorum.
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To spend this night with mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing alang wi' me,
The reel o' Tullochgorum
Tullowhgorum’s nay delight,
It gars us a in ane unite,
And ony sumph that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him.
Blythe and merry we's be a',
Blythe and merry, blythe and merry;
B!ythe and merry we's be a',
And mak a cheerfu' quorum.
Blythe and marry we's be a',
At lang as we hae breath to draw;
And dance till we be like to fa'.
The reel o’ Tullochgorum.
There needs na be sae great a phrase,
Wi' dringling dull Italian lays;
I wadna gie our ain strathipeys,
For half a hundred score o’ em.
They’re doaf aod dowie at the best,
Douff and dowie douff and dowie,
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Wi' a' their variorum.
They're douff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros and a' the rest,
They canna please a Highland tasie
Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum.
Let wardly minds themselves oppress,
Wi' fear o' want and double cess
And silly sauls themselves distress,
Wi' keeping up decorum,
Shall we see sour and sulky sit,
Sour end sulky, sour and sulky;
Shall we sae sour aad sulky sit.
Like auld philoiophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit;
And canna rise to shake a fit,
To the reel o’ Tullochgorum.
May choicest blessings still attend,
Each honest-hearted open friend,
And calm and quite be his end,
Be a' that's good before him!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
May peace and plenty be his lot,
And daintier a great store o; em!
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain'd by ony vicious blot,
And may he never want a groat,
That's fond of Tullochgorum!
But for the discontented fool,
Who wants to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
And blackest fiends devour him.
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
And honest souls abhor him.
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whae'er he be that winna dance,
The reel o' Tullochgorum.