Robert Burns
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.
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.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they strech 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,
'Bethanket! ' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
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!
But mark the Rustic, haggis- fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
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!


A man´s a man for a`that (Ein Mensch ist eben ein Mensch)

Robert Burns wurde am 25.Januar 1759 in Alloway, einem Dörfchen in der Nähe von Ayr geboren.
Um seinen Lebensunterhalt zu verdienen, kaufte er 1788 die Ellislandfarm und versuchte sich erfolglos als Landwirt.
Später trieb er dann Steuern ein, was ihm 50 Pfund im Jahr einbrachte.
Burns wurde zwar zu seinen Lebzeiten berühmt, doch seine Dichtkunst brachte nie den finanziellen Erfolg. Zu seinen Werken gehören neben der Huldigung an einen Haggis noch Tam o´Shanter und Auld Land Syne.
1796 starb Burns völlig mittellos in Dumfries an Gelenkrheumatismus. Zu dem Arzt, der zu ihm kam, sagte er: "I´am a poor pigeon not worth to plucking" ( Ich bin eine arme Taube, die es nicht wert ist, gerupft zu werden.)




Letzte Änderung: 8.Juni 1997.
Copyright ©1997 by Sonja und Alfred Schillings , Wegberg, Germany.