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Rejoice ye birring Paitricks a', Ye cootie Muircock crously craw, Ye Maukins cock your fuds 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 adoru'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, In vain the burns came down the waters, An acre braid: Now ev'ry quid wife greetin clatters, Tam Samson's dead
Owre mony a weary hag he limpit, And aye the tither shot he thuimpit, Till coward Death behind him jumpit, Wi' deadly feide! Now he proclaims wi' tout o' trumpet, Tam Samson's dead!
When at the heart he felt the dagger, He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, But yet he drew the mortal trigger. Wi' weel-aim'd heed ; "L-d, five!" he cried, and owre did stagger, Tam Samson's dead!
