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!’