Fair Fa' Your Honest, Sonsie Face...

Well we had our Burn's Supper, a lot quieter than expected due (I hope!) to short notice of invitation. Had a lovely evening. One avenue of the conversation led us to discuss the price of this homemade haggis. (Check out Wednesday 25th entry http://www.blipfoto.com/entry/1696388) The sheep's stomach, lungs, heart and a wee bit of liver were all free from the butcher! Some suet, a few hadfuls of oats, neeps, tatties and bob's your uncle a family dinner for next to nothing! So in these austere times we might all be back to eating haggis or tripe or any other innards you like (or not) to think of.

And so to the wise words of Robert Burns


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.

2. 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.

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

4. 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.

5. Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad stow a sow,
Or fricasee was mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

6. 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!

7. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

8. 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!



Don't mean to be fussy Rabbie, but give me some chicken fillets or sirloin steak any day.