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FAIR fa’ your honest sonsie1. face, |
Great chieftain o’ the puddin’ race! |
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, |
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Painch, tripe or thairm:2. |
Weel are ye worthy of a grace, |
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As lang’s my arm. |
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The groaning trencher there ye fill, |
Your hurdies like a distant hill, |
Your pin*. would help to mend a mill, |
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In time o’ need, |
While through your pores the dews distil |
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Like amber bead. |
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His knife see rustic labour dight,3. |
And cut you up wi’ ready slight. |
Trenching your gushing entrails bright |
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Like ony ditch ; |
And then, oh what a glorious sight, |
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Warm-reekin’,4. rich! |
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Then, horn for horn they stretch and strive. |
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, |
Till a’ their weel-swalled kytes belyve. |
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Are bent like drums ; |
Then auld guidmen, maist like to rive,5. |
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Bethankit hums. |
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Is there that owere his French ragoût, |
Or olio that wad staw a sow,6. |
Or fricasse wad mak her spew7. |
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Wi’ perfect scunner,8. |
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view |
On sic a dinner? |
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Poor devil! see him owere his trash, |
As feckless9. as a wither’d rash. |
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash |
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His nieve10. a nit: |
Through bloody flood or field to dash, |
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Oh, how unfit! |
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But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, |
The trembling earth resounds his tread, |
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, |
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He’ll mak it whissle; |
And legs, and arms, and heads will sned,11. |
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Like taps o’ thrissle. |
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Ye powers wha mak mankind your care, |
And dish them out their bill o’ fare. |
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,12. |
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That jaups13. in luggies;14. |
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer. |
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Gie her a haggis! |
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1 Jolly.^ |
2 Small intestines.^ |
3 Wipe.^ |
4 Smoking.^ |
5 Burst.^ |
6 Pig. ^ |
7 Vomit.^ |
8 Loathing.^ |
9 Pithless.^ |
10 Fist.^ |
11 Cut off.^ |
12 Thin stuff.^ |
13 Splashes.^ |
14 Wooden dishes.^ |
* A wooden skewer with which it is lifted out and in to the vessel in which it is cooked.^ |
Bellies.^ |
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