Robert Burns<\/p>\n
(This poem is recited to the haggis after it has been brought to the head table of the Burns Supper in a noble procession including a piper, someone carrying the “groaning trencher”\u00a0laden with the\u00a0haggis, and others carrying bottles of “gravy,” (i.e. scotch).)<\/p>\n
Fair fa’<\/a> your honest, sonsie<\/a>face,\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! The groaning trencher there ye fill, His knife see rustic Labour dight, Then, horn<\/a> for horn, they stretch an’ strive: Is there that owre his French ragout Poor devil! see him owre<\/a> his trash, But<\/a> mark<\/a> the Rustic, haggis-fed, Ye Pow’rs, wha<\/a> mak<\/a> mankind your care, Robert Burns (This poem is recited to the haggis after it has been brought to the head table of the Burns Supper in a noble procession including a piper, someone carrying the “groaning trencher”\u00a0laden with the\u00a0haggis, and others carrying bottles … Continue reading
\nAboon<\/a> them a’ yet tak your place,
\nPainch, tripe, or thairm:
\nWeel<\/a> are ye wordy<\/a> o’a grace
\nAs lang’s my arm.<\/p>\n
\nYour hurdies<\/a> like a distant hill,
\nYour pin was help to mend a mill
\nIn time o’need,
\nWhile thro’ your pores the dews distil
\nLike amber bead.<\/p>\n
\nAn’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
\nTrenching your gushing entrails bright,
\nLike ony ditch;
\nAnd then, O what a glorious sight,
\nWarm-reekin’, rich!<\/p>\n
\nDeil<\/a> tak<\/a> the hindmost! on they drive,
\nTill<\/a> a’<\/a> their weel-swall’d kytes<\/a> belyve<\/a>
\nAre bent like drums;
\nThen auld Guidman, maist<\/a> like to rive,
\nBethankit! hums.<\/p>\n
\nOr olio that wad staw<\/a> a sow,
\nOr fricassee wad<\/a> make her spew
\nWi’ perfect sconner,
\nLooks down wi’<\/a> sneering, scornfu’ view
\nOn sic<\/a> a dinner?<\/p>\n
\nAs feckles as wither’d rash,
\nHis spindle shank, a guid<\/a> whip-lash;
\nHis nieve a nit;
\nThro’ blody flood or<\/a> field to dash,
\nO how unfit!<\/p>\n
\nThe trembling earth resounds his tread.
\nClap<\/a> in his walie<\/a> nieve<\/a> a blade,
\nHe’ll mak it whissle;
\nAn’ legs an’ arms, an’<\/a> hands will sned,
\nLike taps o’ trissle.<\/p>\n
\nAnd dish them out their bill<\/a> o’<\/a> fare,
\nAuld<\/a> Scotland wants nae<\/a> skinking<\/a> ware<\/a>
\nThat jaups in luggies;
\nBut, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
\nGie<\/a> her a haggis!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"