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Post by yenilira on Jan 25, 2012 1:05:31 GMT 1
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 groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin was help to mend a mill In time o'need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!
~ ~ ~
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!
Rabbie Burns.
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Post by yeoldetangerine on Jan 25, 2012 9:39:38 GMT 1
Heard it but never seen it written down. Do you do translations?
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Post by yenilira on Jan 25, 2012 14:44:25 GMT 1
Fair full your honest, jolly face, Great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, Stomach, tripe, or intestines: Well are you worthy of a grace As long as my arm.
The groaning trencher there you fill, Your buttocks like a distant hill, Your pin would help to mend a mill In time of need, While through your pores the dews distill Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour wipe, And cut you up with ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like any ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm steaming, rich!
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You powers, who make mankind your care, And dish them out their bill of fare, Old Scotland want no watery ware, That splashes in small wooden dishes; But is you wish her grateful prayer, Give her a Haggis!
Such stirring words.....not!
Nowt like it in the Mother tongue!
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Post by yeoldetangerine on Jan 25, 2012 14:58:51 GMT 1
Sorry I asked, now, sounds much better in Scots, but thanks anyway
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Post by yenilira on Jan 25, 2012 15:20:22 GMT 1
No problem.
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