Ye powers above, I to your care
Resign my faithless lovely fair;
Your choicest blessings be her share,
Tho' she has ever left me-o!
["The country. girls in Ayrshire, instead of the lineShe me forsook for a great duke,
For Athole's duke she me forsook ;
which I take to be the original reading.
These words were composed by the late Dr. Austin, Physician at Edinburgh. He had courted a lady, [Miss Jean Drummond of Megginch] to whom he was shortly to have been married: but the Duke of Athole having seen her, became so much in love with her, that he made proposals of marriage, which were accepted, and she jilted the Doctor."-BURNS.]
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 whigmegorum.
Let Whig and Tory all agree
To spend the night with mirth and glee,
And cheerfu' sing alang wi' me
The reel of Tullochgorum.
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's be a',
Blithe and merry, blithe and merry,
Blithe and merry we's be a',
And 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 phraize,
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' fear of want, and double cess,
And silly sauls 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
At 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 discontented 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 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 ! ..
["This first of songs." "The best Scotch song Scotland ever saw."-BURNS.
When first I came to be a man
Of twenty years or so,
I thought myself a handsome youth,
And fain the world would know :
In best attire I stept abroad,
With spirits brisk and gay,
And here and there, and everywhere,
Was like a morn in May;
No care had I, no fear of want,
But rambled up and down,
And for a beau I might have pass'd
In country or in town:
I still was pleased where'er I went,
And when I was alone
I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself
Wi' John of Badenyon.
Now in the days of youthful prime
A mistress I must find;
For love, I heard, gave one an air,
And even improved the mind:
On Phillis fair, above the rest,
Kind fortune fix'd mine eyes;
Her piercing beauty touch'd my heart,
And she became my choice.
To Cupid now, with hearty prayer,
I offer'd many a vow,
And danced and sung, and sigh'd and swore,
As other lovers do;
But when at last I breathed my flame,
I found her cold as stone
I left the jilt, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.
When love had thus my heart beguiled
With foolish hopes and vain,
To friendship's port I steer'd my course,
And laugh'd at lovers' pain.
A friend I got by lucky chance,
'Twas something like divine;
An honest friend's a precious gift,
And such a gift was mine.
And now, whatever might betide,
A happy man was I,
In any strait I knew to whom
I freely might apply:
A strait soon came-my friend I tried-
He heard and spurn'd my moan :
I hied me home, and tuned my pipe
To John of Badenyon.
Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a patriot turn,
Began to doat on Johnie Wilkes,
And cry up parson Horne;
-Their manly spirit I admired,
And praised their noble zeal,
Who had with flaming tongue and pen
Maintained the public weal.
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