Is This The Final Nail In The Coffin For...
News0 min ago
Burns Night
20 Answers
The time is fast approaching when we will raise a glass to the Bard and address the haggis. You may not know all the words so I thought I'd share them with you. Of course, very few will be able to commit it to memory in such a short time, but verse one would be a great start. Slainte mhath.
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 worthy o' 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 scunner,
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
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 worthy o' 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 scunner,
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
Answers
1 to 20 of 20
Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr, There’s but few poets with you can compare, Some of your poems and songs are very fine. “To Mary in Heaven ” is most sublime. And then again in your “
20:56 Fri 24th Jan 2020
Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr,
There’s but few poets with you can compare,
Some of your poems and songs are very fine.
“To Mary in Heaven ” is most sublime.
And then again in your “Cottar’s Saturday Night”
Your genius there does shine most bright,
As pure as the dew-drops at night.
Your “Tam o’ Shanter” is very fine,
Both funny, racy and divine.
From John o’ Groats to Dumfries,
All critics consider it to be your masterpiece;
And also you have said the same,
Therefore they are not to blame.
And in my opinion both you and them are right,
For your genius there does sparkle bright,
Which I most solemnly declare
To thee, immortal bard of Ayr.
Your “Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon”
Is sweet and melodious in its tune;
And the poetry is moral and sublime,
And in my opinion nothing could be more fine.
Your “Scots wha ha’e wi’ Wallace bled”
Is most beautiful to hear sung or read,
For your genius there does shine as bright
Like unto the stars of night.
Immortal Bard of Ayr, I must conclude my muse,
And to speak in praise of thee my tongue does not refuse,
For you were a mighty poet — few with you could compare,
And also an honour to Scotland, for your genius it is fair.
[William McGonagall]
;-)
There’s but few poets with you can compare,
Some of your poems and songs are very fine.
“To Mary in Heaven ” is most sublime.
And then again in your “Cottar’s Saturday Night”
Your genius there does shine most bright,
As pure as the dew-drops at night.
Your “Tam o’ Shanter” is very fine,
Both funny, racy and divine.
From John o’ Groats to Dumfries,
All critics consider it to be your masterpiece;
And also you have said the same,
Therefore they are not to blame.
And in my opinion both you and them are right,
For your genius there does sparkle bright,
Which I most solemnly declare
To thee, immortal bard of Ayr.
Your “Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon”
Is sweet and melodious in its tune;
And the poetry is moral and sublime,
And in my opinion nothing could be more fine.
Your “Scots wha ha’e wi’ Wallace bled”
Is most beautiful to hear sung or read,
For your genius there does shine as bright
Like unto the stars of night.
Immortal Bard of Ayr, I must conclude my muse,
And to speak in praise of thee my tongue does not refuse,
For you were a mighty poet — few with you could compare,
And also an honour to Scotland, for your genius it is fair.
[William McGonagall]
;-)
1 to 20 of 20
