Ode to a Haggis
The haggis was established once and for all as Scotlands national dish, by the poet Rabbie Burns, in his poem 'To a Haggis'. This was written during Burns' exile to the Scottish Highlands, where many feel he produced some of his best works...
Robert BurnsTo A HaggisKindly provided by dmg@dcs.ed.ac.uk
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 wordy of a grace,As lang's my arm.
The groanin trencher there ye fill,Your hurdles 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 tow a sow,Or _fricasee_ was 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 neive 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 neive 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!
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