Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.

Tullochgorum

John Skinner (1721–1807)

COME, gi’es sang, Montgom’rie cried,

And lay your disputes a’ aside;

What signifies for folks to chide

For what was done before them?

Let Whig and Tory a’ agree,

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,

Whig and Tory a’ agree

To drap their whigmigmorum;

Let Whig and Tory a’ agree

To spend this night in mirth and glee,

And cheerfu’ sing, alang wi’ me,

The reel o’ Tullochgorum.

O 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’ll be a’,

Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,

Blithe and merry we’ll be a’

And mak’ a cheerfu’ quorum.

For blithe and merry we’ll be a’

As lang as we ha’e breath to draw,

And dance, till we be like to fa’,

The reel o’ Tullochgorum.

What needs there be sae great a fraise

Wi’ dringin’, dull Italian lays?

I wadna gi’e our ain strathspeys

For half a hunder score o’ them.

They’re dowf and dowie at the best,

Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie,

Dowf and dowie at the best,

Wi’ a’ their variorum.

They’re dowf and dowie at the best,

Their allegros and a’ the rest;

They canna please a Scottish taste

Compared wi’ Tullochgorum.

Let worldly worms their minds oppress

Wi’ fears o’ want and double cess,

And sullen sots themsel’s distress

Wi’ keeping up decorum.

Shall we sae sour and sulky sit?

Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,

Sour and sulky shall we sit,

Like auld philosophorum?

Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,

Wi’ neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,

Nor ever rise to shake a fit

To the reel o’ Tullochgorum?

May choicest blessings aye attend

Each honest, open-hearted friend,

And calm and quiet be his end,

And a’ that’s gude watch o’er him!

May peace and plenty be his lot,

Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,

Peace and plenty be his lot,

And dainties a great store o’ them!

May peace and plenty be his lot,

Unstained by ony vicious spot,

And may he never want a groat,

That’s fond o’ Tullochgorum!

But for the discontented fool,

Wha wants to be oppression’s tool,

May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour him!

May dule and sorrow be his chance,

Dule and sorrow, dule and sorrow,

Dule and sorrow be his chance,

And nane say ‘Wae’s me for him!’

May dule and sorrow be his chance,

And a’ the ills that come frae France,

Whae’er he be that winna dance

The reel o’ Tullochgorum!