Click to return to PC Home Page
Poets: A B . C D . E F . G H . I J . K L . M N . O P . Q R . S T . U V . W X . Y Z | Home | Other

 . Tullochgorum

    COME gie's a sang, Montgomery cried,
    And lay your disputes all aside,
    What signifies'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 whig-mig-morum;
    Let Whig and Tory all agree,
    To spend the night with mirth and glee,
    And cheerfu' sing alang wi' me,
    The reel of 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 blyth and cheery we's be a',
    Blithe and cheery, blithe and cheery,
    Blithe 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' gie 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 Highland taste
    Compared 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 sae sour 'and sulky sit,
    Wi' 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,
    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 blot;
    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 !

    John Skinner


Poets' Corner . The Other Pages . E-mail

©2009 Poets' Corner Editorial Staff, All Rights Reserved Worldwide
(WebCounter)