Happy Burns' Night - get that haggis cooking!
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 groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies 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; The auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad 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 nieve a nit: Thro 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, He'll make 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!
......and a pint o' heavy and a wee half perhaps ? Relatives north of the border you understand .
Happy Burns Night to all the Scottish peeps!
(I've posted this before so ignore if you already know it ... but anyway, a wee poem that the bard probably didn't write)
Much to his Mum and Dad's dismayHorace ate himself one day.He didn't stop to say his grace,He just sat down and ate his face."We can't have this!", his Dad declared:"If that cat's ate, he should be shared!"But even as he spoke they sawHorace eating more and more.First his legs and then his thighs,His paws, his nose, his fur, his eyes ..."Stop him, someone!" his mother cried:"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"But all too late, for they had gone,And he had started on his dong ..."Oh foolish cat!", his father mourns:"You could have deep fried that with prawns,Some parsley and some tartare sauce ..."But H. was on his second course:His liver and his lights and lungs,His ears and neck, his chin and tongue."To think I raised him from the cotAnd now he's going to scoff the lot",His mother cried: "What shall we do?What's left won't even make a stew".And as she wept, the cat was seenTo eat his head, his heart, his spleen.And there he lay, a cat no more,Just a stomach on the floor.Nonetheless, since it was hisThey ate it. That's what haggis is.
I hate Burns. I think he's crap.
Unfortunately I shared this valuable piece of my information with a uni prof I had who just so happened to be a world renowned authority on him......
No wonder he didn't like me much.....
I love Scots though, so have a great night all! I might join you later for a wee dram
Looking forward to tonight!
I'm going to a Jamaican Burns Night at the Old Fruitmarket feat Sly and Robbie, Karine Polwart etc, dancing and Jamaican tucker.
Having a spot of veggie haggis for lunch.
So what goes in a veggie Haggis then Dude?
the dude abides wrote (see)
same things as a normal haggis but without the meat.
its delicious, macweens. almost as popular as the regular kind!
Not really a special occasion, I have it once a week
Night all, i'm awa to the battlecruiser.
Is there for honest poverty That hings his head, an' a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We daur be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Our toils obscure an' a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an' a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A man's a man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a cuif for a' that: For a' that, an' a' that, His ribband, star, an' a' that: The man o' independent mind He looks an' laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Gude faith, he maunna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities an' a' that; The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.
We did Tam O'Shanter for O level English...still brings me out in a cold sweat.
As do the memories of my Scottish biology tutor at college the morning after Burns Night
I'm a mongrel of the highest order! I have Scottish, Welsh, Irish and German grandparents!
And I was born in England.
If I was a bloke I could play footy for five different countries!
Just woke up after a superbly international Burn's night.
Got embarassingly excited when watching Sly n Robbie but they were so very good
It was also excellent to see Edwyn Collins. Marvellous.
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