Tullochgorum (1823)/Tullochgorum
TULLOCHGORUM.
Come gie's a sang the lady cried,
And lay your disputes all aside,
What nonsense is’t for folks to chide
For what's been done before them.
Let whig and tory all agree,
Whig and tory, whig and tory,
Let whig and tory all agree
To drop their whigmegmorum.
Let whig and tory all agree
To spend the night with mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing alang with me
The reel of Tullochgorum.
Tullochgorum's my delight,
It gars us a' in ane unite,
And onie sumph that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him:
Blithe and merry we's be a',
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,
Blithe and merry we's be a',
To mak a cheerfu’ quorum;
Blithe and merry we's be a'
As lang as we hae breath to draw,
And dance till we be like to fa',
The reel of Tullochgorum.
There needs na be sae great a phrase
With bringing dull Italian lays;
I wadna gie our ain Strathspies
For half a hunder score o'm.
They're dowff and dowie at the best,
Dowff and dowie, dowff and dowie,
They're dowff and dowie at the best,
With a' their variorum:
They're dowff and dowie at the best,
Their allegros, and a' the rest,
They canna please a Highland taste,
Compared with Tullochgorum.
Let wardly minds themselves oppress,
With fear of want and double cess,
And silly sauls themselves distress,
With keeping up decorum.
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Like auld Philosphorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
With neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
And canna rise to shake a fit
To 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 gude 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’m!
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 discontented fool,
Who wants to be oppression's tool
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
And blackest firends 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 of Tullochgorum,