Burns Night Supper - Friday 25th January 2013

It's Robert Burns Night on the 25th, and the Duke is hosting a Burns Night Supper. Chef's 3 or 4 courses will offer a tradtional taste of Bonnie Scotland, with Haggis, tatties & neeps available as a choice, of course. Read the Burns Night Supper menu here.

Did you know...? Robert Burns, was a pioneer of the Romantic Movement in the second half of the 18th Century, and embodied his distaste to the aristocracy and his love for the richness of true Scotland in poems and lyrics. Recognised as Scotland's greatest in 2009 and an icon throughout the world Burns is remembered on his birthday 25th January or soon after. Traditionally the main course of Burns Night is announced when the piper plays the bagpipes and is followed by the haggis brought in by the cook... known as the address to the haggis.

Address to the Haggis

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.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmaist! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then 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 make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody 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 mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Duke of Edinburgh © 2011-12