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May envy gnaw his rotten ſoul,
And blackeſt friends devour him!
May dole and ſorrow be his chance,
Dole and ſorrow be his chance,
May dole and ſorrow, be his chance,
And honeſt ſouls abhor him;
May dale and ſorow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whoe'er he be that winna dance
The reel of Tullochgorum.
And blackeſt friends devour him!
May dole and ſorrow be his chance,
Dole and ſorrow be his chance,
May dole and ſorrow, be his chance,
And honeſt ſouls abhor him;
May dale and ſorow be his chance,
And a' the ills that come frae France,
Whoe'er he be that winna dance
The reel of Tullochgorum.
THE
COWGATE GARLAND,
OR THE DRINKING O'T.
My wife and me, we did agree,
When married I was thinking o'tː
Her daughter Kate the angred me,
Then I began to the drinking o't,
O weary fa' the drinking o't
O weary fa' the drinking o't
An ye begin as I did then,
Your purſe will loſs the Clinking o't:
When married I was thinking o'tː
Her daughter Kate the angred me,
Then I began to the drinking o't,
O weary fa' the drinking o't
O weary fa' the drinking o't
An ye begin as I did then,
Your purſe will loſs the Clinking o't:
