Posted on 01/25/2003 5:17:35 AM PST by Clive
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!
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.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody 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,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.
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!
Mmmmm....scrapple. It tastes as good as it sounds.
I went in to tell my husband (who is of Scottish descent and loves the pipes) and as I said the last line I watched his face...... it took a brief few seconds for the punch line to hit him....... it was great watching him realize it....lol
Find the Haggis an' win prizes!
By perverse coincidence, the sound the haggis is most sensitive to is that of plaid rubbing on underpants. No-one knows why this should be, perhaps this almost undetectable noise mimics exactly the sound of a golden eagle plummeting towards its target. Whatever the reason, the aim of a haggis hunter who sports underwear will never be true. Hence, the tradition that “true Scots” wear nothing under their kilt.
For awhile, KFC's in the south were selling fried chicken livers and gizzards. I don't know if they still are. I'm waiting for a fast food Scrapple joint.
Haggis is gefilte sheep.
Correctin' your grammar, laddie: It cou'd hae a wee bit o' Tabasco.
That is hilarious. I can see a bumper sticker now.."Hunk if you're hongry".
Haggis, its not just for breakfast anymore.
Kilt, n. A costume sometimes worn by Scotchmen in America and Americans in Scotland.
I've always suspected haggis was treated similarly -- sort of an inside joke for the benefit of the tourists. For all its bizarre ingredients and difficult preparation, the finished product (at least in my experience, and I've had only the presumably lung-less American variety) is blandly inoffensive.
As far as hunting the little critters is concerned, I assume these are the Scottish equivalents of snipes?
"Get your Haggis right here! Chopped heart and lungs boiled in a wee sheep's stomach! Tastes as good as it sounds."
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