Friday, January 26, 2007

 

Address To Yesterday's Haggis


Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face
Great chieftain o' the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy of a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad stow a sow,
Or fricasee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! See him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

I believe you may be able to actually hear that here

Happy Burns' Day. A day late. I was busy and missed it.

And no, there are no errors in this post. It's a freebie, and a'.

Gang yersel'.

Comments:
Rabbitch, you are like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June.
 
Aye, indeed!

O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like a melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho it were ten thousand mile!
 
Oh my gosh. The only part of that poem thingie that I actually understood was: "Trenching your gushing entrails bright". The rest? I can hear the accent. I can't read for comprehension, though.

I do, however, know what haggis is. Ulp.
 
From my Scottish heritage (which is not 100%), I choose to like the tartan but not the haggis or the golf.
So far, I know of ancestrial ties in my family to Scotland, Ireland, Germany, France, and England. And New York.
 
Did you have a haggis? I did. Bugger the diet.
I can still recite the whole of TAM O` SHANTER....
Unless you pay me.
 
The Washington Post Food section had a recipe for "haggis for cowards". Even that was too much for me. I like everything else to do with my scottish heritage, but please no haggis!!
 
WOW! I haven't heard that since I lived in Scotland as a child! I don't think I will try to explain to my kids what a haggis is but they do know that we always remember Guy Fawkes day each year! Thanks for the blast from the past!

Yarnlvr
 
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