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[Golfbuddy]

Happy Birthday Rabbie Burns.  

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 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-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The 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 mak her spew
Wi perfect sconner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As breakless as a wither'd 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,
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!

Have a good eveing if your celebrating The Bard's birthday, and if you're not, have a good evening anyway.  

[Markie]

I dont know what any of that means. Seriously. Never understood this country.

Someone in here told me it was Burns night tonight though  :-/

More importantly its Friday night which means stella night....New Years resolution no alcohol on School nights  

[miggy]

Let the wind blow low
Let the wind blow High
Through the streets in a kilt ill go
All the lasses say hello, oh Donald wheres yer Troosers

[hotel21]

Ok, its Burns night....

Instead of the usual trottings out, the following may be easier to read in a 'more modern' Scots tongue.

And, if truth be told, I feel its just as relevant today as when originally penned all those years ago....

The Soldier's Return

When wild war's deadly blast was blown,
And my gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning:
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger;
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.

A lead light heart beat in my breast,
My hands unstain'd wi' plunder;
For fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy;
I thought upon the witching smile,
That caught my youthful fancy.

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted.
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling?
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
That in my e'e was swelling.

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, Sweet Lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom!
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain wad be thy lodger,
I've served my king and country lang:
Tak' pity on a sodger.

Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quote she, A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never.
Our humble cot and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake o't;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.

She gazed - she redden'd like a rose -
Syne pale as ony lily;
She sank within my arms and cried,
Art thou my ain dear Willie?
By Him, who made yon son and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man! and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we'se ne'er be parted.
Quoth she, My grandsire left me gowd
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
Then come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!

For gold the merchant ploughs the main
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger:
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour o' danger.

[miggy]

And hear is the man himself

Robert Burns

[HI2DVY]

Here's my favourite Burns poem... he wouldn't have got away with this today though  



Cock Up Your Beaver
By Robert Burns



I.
When first my brave Johnnie lad
Came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet
That wanted the crown;
But now he has gotten
A hat and a feather, -
Hey, brave Johnnie lad,
Cock up your beaver!

II.
Cock up your beaver,
And cock it fu' sprush,
We'll over the border
and gie them a brush;
There's somebody there
We'll teach better behaviour -
Hey, brave Johnnie lad,
Cock up your beaver!

[Golfbuddy]

Ok, its Burns night....

Instead of the usual trottings out, the following may be easier to read in a 'more modern' Scots tongue.

And, if truth be told, I feel its just as relevant today as when originally penned all those years ago....

The Soldier's Return

When wild war's deadly blast was blown,
And my gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning:
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger;
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger............

Very poignant Broocie.  

[Martin_1962]

I dont know what any of that means. Seriously. Never understood this country.

Someone in here told me it was Burns night tonight though  :-/

More importantly its Friday night which means stella night....New Years resolution no alcohol on School nights  

As soon as I heard the word Burns I always think of Richard RIP