Address to a Haggis

And is this little three legged animal that brings me to costumes of a proud nation: food, drink, a little dance, a speech and endless tales of trips warm up the night. No other way around it: have to come back!!


Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaining 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 distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Lobour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking', rich!....