May choicest blessings aye 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,
Peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o’ them: 
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain’d by any vicious spot,
And may he never want a groat,
That ‘s fond o’ Tullochgorum!

VI.

But for the sullen, frumpish fool,
That loves 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,
Dool and sorrow be his chance,
And nane say, Wae ’s me for him! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Wi’ a’ the ills that come frae France,
Wha e’er he be that winna dance
The Reel o’ Tullochgorum.

JOHN O’ BADENYON

I.

When first I cam 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 I had, nor fear of want,
But rambled up and down,
And for a beau I might have past
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 o’ Badenyon.

II.

Now in the days of youthful prime
A mistress I must find,
For love, I heard, gave one an air
And e’en improved the mind: 
On Phillis fair above the rest
Kind fortune fix’d my eyes,
Her piercing beauty struck 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 girl, and tuned my pipe
To John o’ Badenyon.

III.

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 try’d;
He heard, and spurn’d my moan;
I hied me home, and tuned my pipe
To John o’ Badenyon.

IV.

Methought I should be wiser next,
And would a patriot turn,
Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes
And cry up Parson Horne.[1]
Their manly spirit I admired,
And praised their noble zeal,
Who had with flaming tongue and pen
Maintain’d the public weal;
But e’er a month or two had pass’d,
I found myself betray’d,
’Twas self and party, after all,
For a’ the stir they made;
At last I saw the factious knaves
Insult the very throne,
I cursed them a’, and tuned my pipe
To John o’ Badenyon.