02/11/2024
Address to a Haggisby Robert BurnsFair faโ your honest, sonsie face,Great chieftain oโ the puddinโ-race!Aboon them aโ ye tak your place,Painch, tripe, or thairm:Weel are ye wordy oโa graceAs langโs my arm.The groaning trencher there ye fill,Your hurdies like a distant hill,Your pin wad help to mend a millIn time oโneed,While throโ your pores the dews distilLike amber bead.His knife see rustic Labour dight,Anโ cut you up wiโ ready sleight,Trenching your gushing entrails bright,Like ony ditch;And then, O what a glorious sight,Warm-reekinโ, rich!Then, horn for horn, they stretch anโ strive:Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,Till aโ their weel-swallโd kytes belyveAre bent like drums;Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,โBethankitโ hums.Is there that owre his French ragoutOr olio that wad staw a sow,Or fricassee wad mak her spewWiโ perfect sconner,Looks down wiโ sneering, scornfuโ viewOn sic a dinner?Poor devil! see him owre his trash,As feckless as a witherโd rash,His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,His nieve a nit;Throโ bloody 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,Heโll mak it whissle;Anโ legs anโ arms, anโ heads will sned,Like taps oโ thrissle.Ye Powโrs, wha mak mankind your care,And dish them out their bill oโfare,Auld Scotland wants nae skinking wareThat jaups in luggies;But, if ye wish her gratefuโ prayer,Gie her a haggis!