Book
a member or two of the
Colchester
& District Pipes & Drums
for
your Next Burns Night/Supper
Fair
fa' your honest, sonsie face,
cheerful
Great
chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon
them a' ye tak your place,
Above
Painch,
tripe, or thairm:
paunch/guts
Weel
are ye wordy of a grace worthy
As
lang's my arm.
The
groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your
hurdies like a distant hill,
buttocks
Your
pin wad help to mend a mill
skewer
In
time o' need,
While
thro' your pores the dews distil
Like
amber bead.
His
knife see rustic Labour dight,
wipe
An'
cut you up wi' ready sleight,
skill
Trenching
your gushing entrails bright
Digging
Like
onie ditch;
And
then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin,
rich!
-steaming
Then,
horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
spoon
Deil
tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till
a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
bellies/soon
Are
bent like drums;
Then
auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
burst
'Bethanket!'
hums.
Is
there that owre his French ragout
Or
olio that wad staw a sow,
sicken
Or
fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi'
perfect sconner,
disgust
Looks
down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On
sic a dinner?
Poor
devil! see him owre his trash,
As
feckless as a wither'd rash,
weak/rush
His
spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His
nieve a nit;
fist/nut
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,
choice
He'll
make it whissle;
An'
legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
trim
Like
taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle
Ye
Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And
dish them out their bill o'fare,
Auld
Scotland wants nae skinking ware
watery
That
jaups in luggies;
splashes/porringers
But,
if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie
her a Haggis!
(Pick
Up whisky glass and Toast)
To
The Haggis
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