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REJOICE, ye birring Paitricks a'
Ye cootie Moorcocks, crusely craw;.
Ye Maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,

Withoutten dread;

Your mortal Fae is now awa'

Tam Samson's dead !

THAT woefu' morn be ever mourn'd

Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd,
While pointers round impatient burn'd,

Frae couples freed:

But, Och! he gaed and ne'er return'd!

Tam Samson's dead !

In vain Auld-age his body batters; In vain the Gout his ancles fetters;

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OWRE. mony a weary hag he limpit, An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, Till coward Death' behind him jumpit,

Wi' deadly feide; Now he proclaims, wi' tout o? trumpet,

Tam Samson's dead !

When at his heart he felt the dagger, He reeld his wonted bottle-swagger, But yet he drew the mortal trigger

Wir weel' aim'à heed ; *L-d, five !' he cry'd, and owre did ffagger;

Tam Samson's dead !

zis Ilk họary Hunter mourn'd a brither; Ilk Sportsman-youth bemoan'd a father;



Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather,

Marks out his head,

Whare Burns has wrotė, in rhyming blether,

Tam Samson's dead!

WHEN August winds the heather wave,

And sportsmen wander by yon grave,

Three vollies let his mem'ry crave

O'pouther an' lead,

Till Echo answer frae her cave,

Tam Samson's dead !

HEAV'N reft his faul, where'er he be!

Is th' wish o'mony mae than me:

He had twa fauts, or maybe three,

Yet what remead?

Ae social, honest man want we :

Tam Samson's dead !



Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies,

Ye canting Zealots, spare him !
If Honest Worth in heaven rife,

Ye'll mend or ye win near him..


Go; Fame, an' canter like a filly

Thro' a? the streets an neuks o' Killie **

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Tell ev'ry social, honest billie

To cease his grievin, For yet, unskaith'd by Death's gleg gullie,

Tam Samson's livin!

* Killie is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use for the name of a certain town in the West,

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THE following POEM will, by many Reaa ders, be well enough understood; but, for-the fake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is caft, Notes are added, to give some account of the principal Charms and Spells of that Night, so big with Prophecy to the Peafantry in the West of Scotland. The passion of prying into Futurity makes a striking part of the history of Human Nature, in its rude tate, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philofophic mind, if any such should honour the Author with a perusal, to see the remains of it, among the more unenlightened in our own.



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