Addressing a Haggis, Robert Burns
Fair fa your honest face Sonsie,
Big Boss or race, "the puddin!
Aboon them a 'you tak your place,
Painch, corns, or thairm:
Weel neat're a grace
Long as my arm.
The groans trench to fill it,
His hurdies like a distant hill,
Your PIN wad help to mend a mill
In emergency or time
While thro your pores the dews distilled
As amber beads.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
A mild cup you ready WI
His insides bubbling bright trenches,
As Leonie trench;
And then, oh, what a beautiful sight
Hot - Reekin rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an endeavor:
Deil tak the back, on the way
To a "their weel-Kyte swall'd belyve
Bent like drums;
The Auld Guidman, MAIST as Shore,
hums "Bethankit.
This is where his French ragout Owre,
Or olio that wad STRAW a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi sconner perfect
Looks wi sneering perspective scornfu
Sic on a dinner?
Poor devil! see their junk Owre,
As irresponsible as withered skin rash,
His stick shafts of a GUID whip
Your snow once nit:
To start Thro bloody flood or field
O how unfit!
But Mark Rustic, haggis fed,
The earth trembles heard his tread,
Clap in his snow walie a blade.
It is whissle;
A leg, an arm, a head is SNED,
Such as taps or thrissle.
You Pow`rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And distribute its invoice or rate,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking Article
This is luggies in jaups:
But if you want it gratefu prayer
GIE they Haggis!