 the seven locks of my hair, and weave them in the weaver's shuttle, in the weave, the loom. Then I couldn't get loose, I'd be pinned to the floor. He's getting closer, isn't he? He's getting to the hair. She tries that, the same story. And finally, she says to him, Samson, I'm sick of this. Tell me! And Samson said, well, if you were to cut off my hair,