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TULLOCHGORUM
Rev John Skinner 

 
                                        Come gie's a sang Montgomery cried,
                                        An' lay your disputes a' side;
                                        What nonsense is't for folks tae chide
                                        For what's been done afore them.
                                        Let Whig an' Tory a' agree,
                                        Whig an' Tory, Whig an' Tory,
                                        Whig an' Tory a' agree,
                                        Tae drop their whigmegmorum.
                                        Let Whig an' Tory a' agree,
                                        Tae spend this nicht wi' mirth an' glee,
                                        An' cheerfu' sing wi' me,
                                        The Reel o' Tullochgorum.
 
                                        Tullochgorum's my delight,
                                        It gars us a' in ane unite,
                                        An' ony sumph that keeps up spite,
                                        In conscience I abhor him.
                                        Blythe an' merry we's be a',
                                        Blythe an' merry, blythe an' merry,
                                        Blythe an' merry we's be a',
                                        Tae mak' a cheerful quorum.
                                        Blythe an' merry we's be a',
                                        As lang's we hae a breath tae draw,
                                        An' dance, till we be like tae fa',
                                        The Reel o' Tullochgorum.
 
                                        Let wardly minds themselves oppress
                                        Wi' fear o' want and double cess;
                                        An' silly sauls themselves distress
                                        Wi' keepin' up decorum.
                                        Shall we sae sour an' sulky sit,
                                        Sour  an' sulky, sour an sulky;
                                        Shall we sae sour an' sulky sit,
                                        Like auld Philosophorum.
                                        Shall we sae sour an' sulky sit,
                                        Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
                                        An' canna rise tae shake a fit,
                                        At the Reel o' Tullochgorum.
 
                                        May choicest blessings still attend
                                        Each honest-hearted open friend,
                                        An' calm an' quiet be his end,
                                        Be a' that's good before him!
                                        May peace an' plenty be his lot,
                                        Peace an' plenty, peace an' plenty,
                                        May peace an' plenty be his lot
                                        An' dainties, a great store o'em!
                                        May peace an' plenty be his lot,
                                        Unstained by any vicious blot;
                                        An' may he never want a groat
                                        That's fond o' Tullochgorum.  
 
                                        But for the discontented fool,
                                        Who wants to be oppression's tool,
                                        May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
                                        An' blackest fiends devour him!
                                        May dool an' sorrow be his chance,
                                        Dool an' sorrow, dool an' sorrow;
                                        May dool an' sorrow be his chance,
                                        An' honest souls abhor him.
                                        May dool an' sorrow be his chance,
                                        An' a' the ills that come frae France,
                                        Who'er he be that winna dance
                                        The Reel o' Tullochgorum.
 
 Footnote : It seemed appropriate for St Andrews Day to choose the song referred to by Robert Burns as "the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw"  - Tullochgorum  ( from letter penned in October 1787 to Skinner ) . Rev John Skinner, poet, theologian, Episcopal minister of Longside in Buchan, died, 1807.
 

 


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