Once more, Burns Supper comes along and we take another peek at a literary haggis (and at a literary mouse), Surprising how many cognates Scots has with other Germanic languages, such as thairm for large intestine (se. tarm, de. Darm), or nieve for fist (se. näve).
Address to a Haggis
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
(we salute your honest, smiling face)
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
(puddin: here, savoury pudding)
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
(stomach, small, or large intestine)
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
(trencher: platter)
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
(hurdies: hips)
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,
(dight: sharpen)
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
(slight: here, skill)
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
(like any ditch)
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
(reeking: here, steaming)
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
(horn for horn: spoonful by spoonful, spoons were made of horn)
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
(deil: devil)
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
(kytes: guts)
Are bent like drums;
(till all their well-swollen guts are tight as drums)
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
(then the old Master, most likely to explode)
Bethankit hums.
(bethankit: thank the LORD, bless this meal)
Is there that owre his French ragoût,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
(or olla that would sicken a sow, a female pig)
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
(sconner: disgust)
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 spindly leg a good whiplash)
His nieve a nit;
(his fist a louse's egg)
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 nieve a blade,
(walie nieve: mighty fist)
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
(sned: sever, amputate)
Like taps o’ thrissle.
(like tops of thistle - the national flower)
Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
(bill of fare: menu)
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
(skinking ware: liquid fare)
That jaups in luggies;
(that splashes in bowls)
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
***************************
To a Mouse
On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
(her: is the mouse female? Did Burns sex her?)
November, 1785
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
(wee: little. Sleekit: sly, shrewd. Cowrin: cowering)
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
(breastie: little chest - of the mouse)
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
(brattle: rush, haste)
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
(laith: loathe)
Wi’ murdering pattle!
(pattle: plowshare)
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
(whiles: sometimes)
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
(an odd ear of wheat in 24 sheaves)
‘S a sma’ requet;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
(lave: reminder)
An’ never miss’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
(wa's: walls. Win's: winds)
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
(foggage: foliage)
An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing,
Baith snell an’ keen!
(both bitter and sharp)
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
(coulter: here, another word for plowshare)
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble,
(stibble: stubble)
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
(monie: many)
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
(house or hald: homeless)
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
(to thole: to suffer)
An’ cranreuch cauld!
(and cold frost)
But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
(thy lane: alone)
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
(agley: wrong - the best schemes of mice and men/people often go wrong)
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
(lea'e: leave)
For promis’d joy!
Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
(e'e: eye)
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see,
I guess an’ fear!
