ey station at the cock? [mark]
Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o' a' the core [gang]
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,[23]
Or up the rink like Jehu roar
In time o' need;
But now he lags on Death's hogscore,[24]--
Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, [salmon]
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail,
And eels weel kent for souple tail,
And geds for greed, [pikes]
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail
Tam Samson's dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; [whirring partridges]
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely craw; [leg-plumed, confidently]
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, [hares, tail]
Withouten 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, [attire]
While pointers round impatient burn'd,
Frae couples freed;
But oh! 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;
In vain the burns cam down like waters, [brooks, lakes]
An acre braid!
Now ev'ry auld wife, greeting clatters [weeping]
'Tam Samson's dead!'

Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, [moss]
An' aye the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward Death behin' him jumpit
Wi' deadly feide; [feud]
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, [blast]
'Tam Samson's dead!'

When at his heart he felt the dagger,
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger,
But yet he drew the mortal trigger
Wi' weel-aim'd heed;
'Lord, five!' he cried, an' owre did stagger;
Tam Samson's dead!

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither;
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father;
Yon auld grey stane, amang the heather,
Marks out his head,
Where Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether, [no