Way to be happy, or, The new way of Tullochgorum/The New Way of Tullochgorum.

The New Way of Tullochgorum.

COme gie's a ſong Montgom'ry cries,
And lay your diſputes all aſide,
What nonſenſe is't in folks to chide,
For what was done before them,
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
Whig and Tory,
Whig and Tory,
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
And drop their whig-meg morum,
Let Whig and Tory all agree,
To ſpend the night with mirth and glee,
And cheerful ſing along with me,
The reel of Tullochgorum.

O Tullochgorum's my delight,
It makes us all in one unite,
And any ſumph that keeps up ſpite,
Out of my lift I'll ſcore him,
For blyth and cheary we's be a',
Blyth and cheary,
Blyth and cheary,
For blyth and cheary we's be a';
And make a hearty quorum,
For blyth and cheary we's be a',
As lang as ye ha'e breath to draw,
And dance till we be like to fa',
The reel of Tullochgorum.

What needs there be fo great a phraſe,
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays,
I wou'd not gi'e our ain Strathſpeys,
For half a hundred ſcore o'-them;
They're douff and dowie at the beſt,
Douff and dowie,
Douff and dowie,
They're douff and dowie at the beſt,
Tho' thouſands ſhould encore them.
They're douff and dowie at the beſt,
Their allegro's and a' the reſt,
They canna pleaſe a true Scots taſte,
Compar'd with Tullochgorum.

Let worldly minds themſelves oppreſs,
Wi' fear o' want and double ceſs.
And filly fauls themſelves diſtreſs,
Wi' keeping up decorum,
Shall we ſo ſour and ſulky fit,
Sour and ſulky,
Sour and ſulky,
Shail we ſo ſour and ſulky ſit,
Like old Philoſophorum!
Shall we ſo ſour and ſulky ſit,
Wi' neither ſenſe, nor mirth, nor wit,
And never try to ſhake a foot
To the reel of Tullochgorum!

My choice bleſſings ay attend,
Each honeſt open hearted friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,
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 be his lot,
Unſtain'd by any vicious ſpot,
And may he never want a groat,
That's fond of Tullochgorum.

But for your 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,
May dool and ſorrow be his chance,
And no man to care for him.
May dool and ſorrow be his chance,
Wi' a' the ills that come frae France,
Whoe'er he be that winna dance
The reel of Tullochgorum.