The Royal Princess/Tullochgorum

by John Skinner

For other versions of this work, see Tullochgorum.

TULLOCHGORUM.

COME gi'es a ſang the Lady cry'd
And lay your diſputes all aſide,
What ſignifies for folks to chide
For what's been done before them?
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Torry, Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To drop their whigmegorum;
Let whig and tory all agree
To ſpend this night with mirth and glee
And cheerfu' ſing alang wi' me,
The reel of Tullochgorum,
Tullochgorum's my delight
It gets us a' in ane unite;
And ony ſumph that keeps up ſpite,
In conſcience I abhor him.
Blyth and merry we's be a'
Blyth and merry blyth and merry,
Blyth and merry we's be a',
to make a cheerfu' quorum,
Blyth and merry, we's be a',
As lang's we have breath to draw,
And dance till we like to fa',
The reel of Tullochgorum.
There needs nae' be to greatar phraſe,
Wi' drinking dull Italian lays,
I wadna gi'e our ain Strthſpeys
For half a hundred ſcore o 'em;
They're doaff and dowie at the beſt.
Douff and dowie douff and dowie;
Tey're douff and dowie at the beſt,
Wi' a' variorum;
They're douff and dowie at the beſt,
Their all egroes, and a, the reſt,
They cannot pleaſe a highland taſte,
Compar'd wi' Tullochgorum,
Let wardly minds themſelves oppreſs,
Wi' fear of want and double ceſs,
And ſilly ſauls themſelves diſtreſs,
We' keeping up decorum;
Shall we ſo ſour and ſulky ſit
Sour and ſulky, ſour and ſulky;
Shall we ſae ſour and ſulky, fit
Like auld Philoſophorum
Shall we ſae ſour and fulky fit,
Wi' neither ſenſe, nor mirth, nor wit
And canna riſe to ſhake a ſit
At 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,
Unſtained by any vicious blot;
And may he never want a groat
That's fond of Tullochgorum.
But for the diſconted fool,
Who wants to be oppreſſion's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten ſoul,
And blackeſt friends devour him!
May dole and ſorrow be his chance,
Dole and ſorrow be his chance,
May dole and ſorrow, be his chance,
And honeſt ſouls abhor him;
May dale and ſorow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whoe'er he be that winna dance
The reel of Tullochgorum.