Address to a Haggis                     the translation …

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,                                     Good luck to you and your honest, plump face,
Great chieftain o the puddin’-race!                                 Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,                                     Above them all you take your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:                                                    Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace                                            Well are you worthy of a grace
As lang’s my arm.                                                                As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,                                The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,                                        Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill                                   Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time o need,                                                                     In time of need,
While thro your pores the dews distil                             While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.                                                                 Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,                                    His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
An cut you up wi ready slight,                                           And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,                         Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;                                                                    Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,                                   And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!                                                             Warm steaming, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:                   Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,                              Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve                              Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;                                                           Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,                             Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
‘Bethankit’ hums.                                                            ‘    The grace!’ hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,                               Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,                                              Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew                                         Or fricassee would make her vomit
Wi perfect scunner,                                                              With perfect disgust,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view                             Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On sic a dinner?                                                                     On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,                                    Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,                                            As feeble as a withered rush,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,                                  His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;                                                                        His fist a nut;
Thro bloody flood or field to dash,                                     Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!                                                                            O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,                                        But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,                          The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,                                            Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;                                                            He’ll make it whistle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,                                  And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like taps o thrissle.                                                                Like the heads of thistles.

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,                           You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,                                     And dish them out their bill of fare
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware                            Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That jaups in luggies:                                                             That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,                                       But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Gie her a Haggis                                                                      Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!