A Haggis; a Haggis, An honest Scottish Haggis! Let Frenchmen make a loud to-do About the length o' their menu— New-fangled fricassee, ragout, And sic like dishes— Auld Scotia's simple brag is Her ancient Haggis! To me arrives a Haggis; A Haggis?—A HAGGIS! A healthy, wholesome Haggis As ever ye did see, And writ upon the tag is: "To Sergeant Joseph Lee— Just boil it for a wee!"
Ah well kenn'd I wha made it— Frae the foundation laid it— Wha packed it up, and prayed it Wad in condition be— As tho' hersel' had said it— It brought me memorie O' the land sae dear to me— Land where the rock and crag is, Land where the rill and quag is, Land where the leaping stag is— Did this Scotch Haggis.
"Go out into the highways, Go out into the byways," Quo' I in muckle glee, "Go into ilka billet— The fatted calf is kille't— And say that so we will it— Compel them come and pree The big and buirdly Haggis That's been sent out to me!" "Losh, but I'll sound the slogan!" Cried souple Stievie Logan, And aff at aince set he.
The Haggis; THE Haggis, Yes, let us to the Haggis— Pegasus, my nag is Inclined to need the spur— We passed it for inspection, Then in the pot Till it was hot— O, glorious resurrection!
The Haggis, the Haggis; Wull Wright an unco' wag is, And he cried out wi' passion, "The smell itsel' Might very well Serve for a sodger's ration!" Now quick the Cook arrays it, And in the Piper plays it; Ye never heard siccan a din, The billet roof comes tumblin' in. (I dinna ken wha pays it That's quite anither story.) Dan gi'es us "Scotland's Glory"; His ruddy cheeks are outward blawn, His neb is cocked, his neck is thrawn, He blaws until his bag is As big's our muckle Haggis!
Behind him, Billy Milne, elate, Bears the great chieftain on a plate, Advancing and retiring— Like the Haggis' sel' perspiring— Wi' many a step frae many a dance Unknown in the salons o' France. Now, round and round the room they go For it is seemly even so; At last amidst the babel The Haggis takes the table! The guests await, the Grace is said, Then the proud host outdraws his blade: "A British bayonet's jag is The best for Hun or Haggis! Wi' that he straightway falls on it And gi'es the Haggis sic a slit; The whereupon, entrancing sight, The hidden glories come to light— "Advance, attack, each valiant wight, And make good play wi' fork and spoon, The Devil take the hindmost done— The first to fail or flag is No' worthy o' a Haggis!"
No need to force a Scotsman go To find a friend or fight a foe, And swiftly at that given word They fall on it wi' one accord, Wi' spoon and gully-knife and fork They make the shortest o' short work— There's ne'er been sic a stabbin' Since our boys took the Schwaben! They hack and hew that Haggis Till a' that's left a rag is! And when they've worked their will o't, And when they've ate their fill o't, Mair nor ae chield can scarcely drag his Sel' frae that feast o' Haggis!
A Haggis, a Haggis, An honest, homely Haggis!— Land where the riven crag is, Land where the leaping stag is, Thy proudest boast and brag is Thy ancient Haggis!
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