Warning

Many properties, especially our countryside places, have been affected by damage from Storm Arwen. Please check the specific property pages before visiting. There may also be local road closures.

See all stories

Address to a Haggis

A chef stands behind a large haggis on a decorative plate. He holds a sharp kitchen knife.
Written in December 1786, this was the first of Burns’s poems to be published in a newspaper (The Caledonian Mercury) – an indication of the success that the publication of his first volume of poems just a few months earlier had brought him.

On Burns Night the haggis is often piped to the table, and then this poem is recited (usually by the host) as the haggis is carved open and served.

It’s thought that Burns wrote the last verse whilst having dinner at a friend’s house. The poem celebrates the strength of the ‘ordinary’ working Scotsman (a haggis-fed Rustic) over those with more ‘continental’ tastes.

Address to a Haggis

Fair fayour honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin-race!
Aboon them a ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o a grace
As langs 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,
Ancut you up wiready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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-swalld kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankithums.

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 feckless as a witherd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody 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,
Hell make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Powrs, 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!


Handy glossary: Fair fa’ = good fortune; sonsie = pleasant-looking/cheerful; aboon = above; Painch = stomach/paunch;thairm = gut used as skin; hurdies = buttocks; pin = skewer; dight = make ready; slight = skill; onie = any; Warm-reekin = steaming; Deil = the Devil; weel-swall'd = very swollen; kytes = bellies; belyve = quickly; Guidman = head of the household/husband; rive = burst; owre = over; olio = a type of Spanish stew; staw = to feel sated; sconner = revulsion; feckless = weak; rash = reed; spindle shank = thin leg; nieve = fist; nit = nut; clap = caress; walie = strong; sned = trim; taps o thrissle = tops of thistles; wha = who; skinking ware = thin, watery food; jaups = splashes; luggies = wooden dishes with two side handles

Explore Robert Burns Birthplace Museum

Visit now