Explore "Address to a Haggis" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, / Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! / Aboon them a' yet tak your place, / Painch, tripe, or thairm: / Weel are ye wordy o'a grace / As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill, / Your hurdies like a distant hill, / Your pin was help to mend a mill / In time o'need, / While thro' your pores the dews distil / Like amber bead.