Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

John Skinner (1721–1807)

Tullochgorum

COME gie ’s a sang, Montgomery cried,

And lay your disputes all aside,

What signifies ’t for folk 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 Whig-mig-morum;

Let Whig and Tory all agree,

To spend the 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.

For blythe and cheery we ’s be a,

Blythe and cheery, blythe and cheery,

Blythe and cheery we ’s be a’,

And mak’ a happy quorum.

For blythe and cheery 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,

Wi’ dringing dull Italian lays,

I wadna gi’e our ain strathspeys

For half a hundred 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’ fears of want, and double cess,

And sullen sots themselves distress

Wi’ 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 Philosophorum?

Shall we so sour and sulky sit,

Wi’ neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,

Nor ever rise to shake a fit

To the reel of Tullochgorum?

May choicest blessings still attend

Each honest open-hearted friend,

And calm and quiet be his end,

And a’ that ’s good watch o’er 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 spot!

And may he never want a groat

That ’s fond of Tullochgorum.

But for the dirty, yawning fool,

Who wants to be oppression’s tool,

May envy gnaw his rotten soul,

And discontent devour him!

May dool and sorrow be his chance,

Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,

May dool and sorrow be his chance,

And nane say wae ’s me for ’im!

May dool and sorrow be his chance,

Wi’ a’ the ills that come frae France,

Whae’er he be, that winna dance

The reel of Tullochgorum.