Address To A Haggis by Robert Burns performed by Jolyn Crawford ,Poet & National Trust for Scotland volunteer.
Address to a Haggis (Scots: Address to the Haggis) is a Scots language poem by Scottish poet, Robert Burns in 1786. One of the more well known Scottish poems, the title refers to the national dish of Scotland, haggis, which is a savoury pudding. The poem is most often recited at "Burns supper" a Scottish cultural event celebrating the life of Robert Burns where everybody stands as the haggis is brought in on a silver salver whilst a bagpiper will lead the way towards the hosts table. The host or a guest will then recite the poem while slicing open the haggis at the right moment with a ceremonial knife.
Address to a Haggis (Scots: Address to the Haggis) is a Scots language poem by Scottish poet, Robert Burns in 1786. One of the more well known Scottish poems, the title refers to the national dish of Scotland, haggis, which is a savoury pudding. The poem is most often recited at "Burns supper" a Scottish cultural event celebrating the life of Robert Burns where everybody stands as the haggis is brought in on a silver salver whilst a bagpiper will lead the way towards the hosts table. The host or a guest will then recite the poem while slicing open the haggis at the right moment with a ceremonial knife.
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00:00 [Music]
00:05 Address to the Haggis by Robert Burns
00:20 Fair foe your ony soancy face, Great chieftain o' the puddin race
00:26 A bin them aw ye tak yer place, Pinge, tripe, a fern
00:33 Weel are you worthy, o' a grace, As langs my earn
00:39 The groanin' trencher, there ye fill, Yer hurties, they're like a distant hill
00:47 Your peen would help to mend a mill in time o' need
00:51 And through yer pores the juice distill, Like amber bead
00:57 As knife see rustic labour dict, And cut ye up, we ready slict
01:05 Trenching yer gushing entreals brit, Like ony dish
01:11 Then o'er with a glorious sect, One reeking rich
01:18 Then horn for horn the stretching strive, Deal, tag me hen most ony drive
01:25 Till aw the real swell kites belive, Are bent like drums
01:32 The auld good man maes like to rive, But thank it hums
01:41 Is the that, o'er his French ragu, Or an oleo that would stow a sue
01:49 Or a freaky see would mack her spiew, With perfect scunner
01:56 Locks doon, we sneerin' scornful few, On sick o' dinner
02:04 Poor devil, see him o'er his trash, As feckless as a withered rash
02:11 His spindle shank a gud whiplash, His knieve a nit
02:17 Through bloody flood are field to dash, O how unfit
02:24 But mark the rustic haggis fed, The trembling off resounds his tread
02:31 Clap in his wally knieve a blade, And he'll mack it whistle
02:36 And then legs and arms and heads will sned, Like taps o' thristles
02:45 Ye powers for mack mankind your care, And dish them out there bill a fare
02:51 Auld Scotland wants nae skinkin' ware, That jouts and luggets
02:57 But if ye wish her grateful prayer, Gee her a haggis!
03:05 [Music]