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And a' that's good come 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' them,
May peace and plenty he his lot,
Unſtain'd by any vicious spot,
And may he never want a groat,
That's ſone of Tullichgorum.
But for your sullen ſrumpish fool,
That love to be oppression's tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul.
And discontent devour him
May (illegible text) and sorrow be bis chace,
(illegible text) and sorrow.
(illegible text) and sorrow
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(illegible text)
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The reel of Tullichgurum.
F I N I S
