Ode To A Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,                 cheerful

Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,                 Above

Painch, tripe, or thairm:                                 paunch/guts

Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy

As lang's my arm.

 

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,                             buttocks

Your pin wad help to mend a mill                         skewer

In time o' need,

While thro' your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

 

His knife see rustic Labour dight,                         wipe

An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,                         skill

Trenching your gushing entrails bright                     Digging

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich!                                                 -steaming

 

Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:             spoon

Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,                 bellies/soon

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,                     burst

'Bethanket!' hums.

 

Is there that owre his French ragout

Or olio that wad staw a sow,                                 sicken

Or fricassee wad mak her spew

Wi' perfect 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,                         weak/rush

His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,

His nieve a nit;                                                 fist/nut

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,                             choice

He'll make it whissle;

An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,                     trim

Like taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle

 

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o'fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware                     watery

That jaups in luggies;                                 splashes/porringers

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,

Gie her a Haggis!

 

To The Haggis    

 

Indeed, Dixie, and I forgot,  thanks, and all,

this will have been a much recited piece of this this evening, I

thought you'd enjoy the translations, Zy