Page:Child of a tar.pdf/6

 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,
 * Be a' that's gude before 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'm;

May peace and plenty be his lot, Unstained by any vicious blot! And may he never want a groat
 * That's fond of Tullochgorum.

But for the discontented fool, Wha wants to be oppression's tool, May envy gnaw his rotten soul.
 * And blackest fends devour him!

May dool and sorrow be his chance, Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, May dool and sorrow be hit chance,
 * And honest souls abhor him;