The Melodist/Tullochgorum

by John Skinner

For other versions of this work, see Tullochgorum (Skinner).

TULLOCHGORUM.

Come gie’s a sang, Montgom’ry cries.
And lay your disputes all aside.
What nonsense it’s for folk to chide,
For what’s been done before them:

Let whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,
Whig and Tory all agree,
To drop their whigmegorum:

Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To spend this night wi’ mirth and glee,
And cheerfu’ sing alang wi’ me,
The reel of Tullochgorum.

Tullochgorum’s my delight,
It gars us a’ in ane unite.
And ony sumph that keeps up spite.
In conscience I abhor him.

Blithe and merry we’s be a’,
Blithe and merry, blythe and merry;
Blythe and merry we’s be a’,
To make a cheerfu’ quorum.
Blithe and merry we’s be a’,
As lang’s we ha'e a braith to draw,
And dance, till we be like to fa’,
The Reel of Tullochgorum.

There needs na’ he sae great a phrase,
Wi' bringing dull Italian lays,
I wadna gae our ain strathspeys
For half a dozen score o’em:
They’re douff and 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 Scottish taste,
Compar’d wi’ Tullochgorum.

Let warldly minds themselves oppress,
Wi’ fear o’ want and double cess:
And silly sauls themselves distress,
Wi’ keeping up decorum:
Shall we sae sour and silky sit,
Sour and silky, sour and silky;
Shall we sae sour and silky sit,
Like auld philosophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
either sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
And canna rise to shake a fit,
the Reel of Tullochgorum?

May choicest blessings still attend
Each honest-hearted open friend.
And calm and quiet 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 dainties a great store o’em;
May peace and plenty be his lot.
Unstain’d by any vicious blot;
And may he never want a groat
That’s fond of Tullochgorum.

But for the discontented fool,
Wha 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 came frae France,
Whae'er he be that winna dance
The Reel of Tullochgorum,