ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS with COMMENTARY

 Today is the birthday of Scottish poet Robert Burns, who famously wrote the Address to a Haggis. Therefore, haggis is traditionally served and carved ritually this evening for supper in the UK. However, not everyone understands the Burns poem that the carver recites with gusto during the ritual.

Here is the poem with a free commentary.

ADDRESS TO 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 wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.

May good fortune attend your honest jolly face, O King of Puddings. You are superior to  Tripe and all other offal. You are also worthy of a paean of praise Even longer than a Presbyterian sermon.

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.

A large haggis, steaming on a plate and with its juices exuding from its pores,

Is a truly magnificent sight. Furthermore, in an emergency, Parts of the haggis packaging can be used for rudimentary DIY repairs.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Taking a clean sharp knife,

The farm labourer cuts the haggis open with a skilful stroke, Revealing a most appetizing sight.

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;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Scots, when eating haggis, Do not stand on ceremony. Eventually, When all stomachs are filled, Satisfied rumblings are heard.

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?

This verse is severely critical of continental cuisine.

In the interest of continuing harmonious relationships within the EEC, 

no attempt will be made to be more explicit.

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’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

The poet asserts that such foreign fare will never lead to full physical development.

In particular, he implies that non-haggis eating nations have a negligible chance of achieving the Grand Slam And even the Triple Crown may elude them.

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.

On the other hand, a haggis fed farmer Is a force not to be argued with. On a Saturday night, He and his flickknife will make mincemeat of any opposition.

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!

Messrs Sainsbury, Tesco et alia should note

That effeminate foreign delicacies will not sell well in Scotland. Haggis, however, will certainly be snapped up well before its sell-by date.