The boys are then heading to band (pipe and drums) after dinner and I'm sure they will play a few tunes to celebrate Mr. Burn's birthday. We love haggis!!
ADDRESS TO HAGGIS
A blessing on your honest, hearty face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, ttripe, or chitlins,
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, ttripe, or chitlins,
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.
The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your skewer would help to mend a mill
If time of need,
While through your pores the flavors distill
Like amber bead.
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your skewer would help to mend a mill
If time of need,
While through your pores the flavors distill
Like amber bead.
His knife, see rustic labor wipe,
And cut you up with ready skill,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like any ditch,
And then, 0h! What a glorious sight!
Steaming-hot, rich!
And cut you up with ready skill,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like any ditch,
And then, 0h! What a glorious sight!
Steaming-hot, rich!
Then, each with spoon in hand, they stretch and strive,
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Until all their very swollen stomachs soon,
Are bent like drums,
Then the old goodman, just about to burst,
In thanks, asks.
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Until all their very swollen stomachs soon,
Are bent like drums,
Then the old goodman, just about to burst,
In thanks, asks.
Is there anyone who after eating French ragout,(as Haggis)
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricasse that would make her throw up
With absolute disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful attitude,
On such a dinner?
Poor devil! See him after his trash!
As wek as a withered reed,
His leg like a whip cord,
His fist a nut,
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!
As wek as a withered reed,
His leg like a whip cord,
His fist a nut,
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!
But note the rustic, haggis-fed!
The trembling earth echoes his tread!
Thrust in his ample fist a blade,
He will make it whistle!
And legs, and arms, and heads will lop,
Like tops of thistles.
The trembling earth echoes his tread!
Thrust in his ample fist a blade,
He will make it whistle!
And legs, and arms, and heads will lop,
Like tops of thistles.
You Powers that make mankind your care,
And dish them up their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery menu
That slops in wooden bowls!
But, if you want her grateful prayer,
Give her a Haggis!
And dish them up their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery menu
That slops in wooden bowls!
But, if you want her grateful prayer,
Give her a Haggis!
No comments:
Post a Comment