Wi' gleesome speed,

Wha will they station at the cock?"
Tam Samson's dead!

He was the king o'a' the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore,
Or up the rinky like Jehu roar

In time o' need;

But now he lags on death's hog-score,
Tam Samson's dead!

Now safe the stately sawmonta sail,
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail,
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail,
And gedsb for greed,c

Since dark in death's fish-creeld we wail
Tam Samson dead!

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a';
Ye cootie muircocks crousely craw;8
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw,'
Withouten dread;

Your mortal fae is now awa',

Tam Samson 's dead!

That waefu' morn be ever mourn'd,
Saw him in shootin' graithk 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;

w The winning place in curling. To strike a stone in an oblique direction. y The course of the stones at the game of curling. A kind of distance line, in curling, drawn across the rink.

a Salmon.

b Pike.

d Fish-basket.

Greediness.

e Partridges.

h Hares.

k Accoutrements.

f Birds which have feathers on the legs are said to be cootic.

g Crow courageously.

i Čock your tail handsomely.

In vain the burns' came down like waters An acre braid !m

Now every auld wife, greetin❜n clatters,

'Tam Samson's dead!'

Owre many a weary hago he limpit P
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit,
Till coward Death behind him jumpit,
Wi' deadly feide ;9

Now he proclaims, wi' tout' o' trumpet,
Tam Samson's dead!'

་

O' pouther an' lead,

Till Echo answer frae her cave,

'Tam Samson 's dead!'

Heav'n rest his saul, where'er it be !
Is the wish o' monie mae" than me;
He had twa faults, or maybe three,
Yet what remead ?w

Ae social, honest man want we :
Tam Samson's dead!

THE EPITAPH.

TAM SAMSON'S weel-worn clay here lies
Ye canting zealots, spare him!
If honest worth in heaven rise,
Ye'll mend or ye winx near him.

PER CONTRA.

Go Fame, and canter like a filly

Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,y

Tell every social, honest billiez

To cease his grievin',

For yet, unskaith'da by Death's gleg gullie,b

A'

Tam Samson 's livin'.

ON A SCOTTISH BARD,

Gone to the West Indies.

A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, ye wha live by crambo-clink,c A' ye wha live and never think,

Nae mair he 'll join the merry roar,
In social key;

For now he's taen anither shore,
An' owre the sea.

The bonnie lasses weel may wisse him,
And in their dear petitions place him;
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him,
Wi' tearfu' e'e;

For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him,
That's owre the sea.

O Fortune! they hae room to grumble!
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle,b
Wha can do nought but fykei an' fumble,
'Twad been nae plea;
But he was glegk as onie wumble,'
That's owre the sea.

Auld cantie Kylem may weepers wear,
And stain them wi' the saut," saut tear,
"Twill mak her poor auld heart, I fear,
In flinders flee;

He was her laureate monie a year
That's owre the sea.

He saw misfortune's cauld nor❜-west
Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last,
Ill may she be!

So, took a birth afore the mast,

An' owre the sea.

To tremble under Fortune s cummock,
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,r
Wi' his proud, independent stomach,
Could ill agree;

Wish.

/ Wimble.

λ A blunderer. i Trifle. k Sharp, ready. m A district in Ayrshire.

• Broken pieces.

n Salt. P Jilt. 9 Rod, or staff. r Raw meal and water.

So, row'd his hurdiest in a hammock,
An' owre the sea.

He ne'er was gien to great misguidin',
Yet coin his pouches" wad na bide in ;
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding;
He dealt it free;

The Muse was a' that he took pride in,
That's owre the sea.

Jamaica bodies, use him weel,
An' hap him in a cozie biel :*
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel,
And fou o' glee ;

He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil,
That's owre the sea.

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie!
- our native soil was right ill-willie ;
But may ye flourish like a lily,
Now bonniely!

I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie,
Tho' owre the sea.

ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788.

January 1, 1780.

FOR lords or kings I dinna mourn,

E'en let them die-for that they're born!
But, oh! prodigious to reflect,
A towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck!
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space
What dire events hae taken place!
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us!
In what a pickle thou hast left us!

The Spanish empire 's tint a head,
And my auld teethless Bawtie's dead;