mson's dead!”
there, low he lies, in sti;
perhaps upon his mould&# breast
some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her
to hat' breed:
as! nae mair he'll them molest!
tam samson's dead!
when august winds the heather wave,
and sportsmen wander by yon grave,
three volleys let his memory crave,
o' pouther an' lead,
till echo answer frae her cave,
“tam samson's dead!”
heav' his saul whare'er he be!
is th' wish o' mony mae than me:
he had twa fauts, or maybe three,
yet what remead?
ae social, ho
Tam Samsons Elegy(6/7)