fles up his cloak,
he was the king o' a' the core,
to guard, or draw, or wick a bore,
or up the rink like jehu roar,
in time o' need;
but now he gs oh's hog-score—
tam samson's dead!
now safe the stately sawmont sail,
and trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail,
and eels, weel-ken'd for souple tail,
and geds freed,
since, dark ih's fish-creel, we wail
tam samson's dead!
rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw;
ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw
withouten dread;
Tam Samsons Elegy(3/7)