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Burns Night

Sunday, January 27, 2008, from 4:00 to 8:00 p.m.

At David and Mary's Place

Order of the Evening

Guests gather and mix
Welcoming and Selkirk Grace
David Trumbull and Chris Morgan
Some hae meat and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it, 
But we hae meat and we can eat, 
Sae the Lord be thankit. 
First Course

The supper then starts with the soup course. Normally a Scots soup such as Scotch Broth, Potato Soup or Cock-a-Leekie is served.

Piping in of the Haggis
Address to the Haggis
Chris Morgan

The speaker, at the line His knife see rustic Labour dicht raises a knife, sharpening it menacingly, and at the line An' cut you up wi' ready slicht, plunges it into the haggis and cuts it open from end to end.

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 o' 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 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 hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke 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 mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless 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 mak 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!


Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich 

Then spoon for spoon 
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis! 

A Whiskey Toast to the Haggis
Second Course

Haggis, with mashed potatoes (tatties) and mashed neeps (rutabaga or turnip).

Toasts

To the Health of the President of the United States and the Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts
Chris Murphy

"...we're stuck with them, and they with us..."
To the Memory of Robert Burns
David Trumbull

ROBERT BENCHLEY, "Jolly Good Fellows" from My Ten Years in a Quandary and How They Grew
To Mrs. Robert Burns
Jean Wilson
To the Lasses

Please note that the ladies are referred to as "lasses" and not "lassies", the latter being the plural of a famous canine.
Chris Murphy

"...mulier autem gloria viri est..
Volo autem vos scire quod omnis viri caput, Christus est: caput autem mulieris, vir: caput vero Christi, Deus.
Omnis vir orans, aut prophetans velato capite, deturpat caput suum.
Omnis autem mulier orans, aut prophetans non velato capite, deturpat caput suum: unum enim est ac si decalvetur.
Nam si non velatur mulier, tondeatur. Si vero turpe est mulieri tonderi, aut decalvari, velet caput suum.
Vir quidem non debet velare caput suum: quoniam imago et gloria Dei est, mulier autem gloria viri est.
Non enim vir ex muliere est, sed mulier ex viro.
Etenim non est creatus vir propter mulierem, sed mulier propter virum.
Ideo debet mulier potestatem habere supra caput propter Angelos.
Verumtamen neque vir sine muliere: neque mulier sine viro in Domino.
Nam sicut mulier de viro, ita et vir per mulierem: omnia autem ex Deo.
Vos ipsi iudicate: decet mulierem non velatam orare Deum?
Nec ipsa natura docet vos, quod vir quidem si comam nutriat, ignominia est illi:
mulier vero si comam nutriat, gloria est illi: quoniam capilli pro velamine ei dati sunt.

                                                                                                  --1 Cor. 11:3-15
To the Laddies
Mary DiZazzo Trumbull
Here's to the laddies
Dressed in their plaidies
While watching the sheepsies,
Eating tatters and neepies,
And roamin' through the gloamin'
By the shores of Lock Lomoand:
I salute ye.
         --Mary DiZazzo Trumbull
[ To Boston, Massachusetts, and the United States ]
[ To Scotland ]

Readings

Auld Lang Syne

All sign, joining hands.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,
And days of auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?

We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine.
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne,
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld ang syne.

We twa hae sported i' the burn,
From morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne. 
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne.
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

And ther's a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And days of old long ago?
And days of old long ago, my dear,
And days of old long ago.
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And days of old long ago?

We two have run aboot the hillsides
And pulled the daiseys fine.
We've wandered many a weary foot,
Since old long ago.
Since old long ago, my dear,
Since old long ago,
We've wandered many a weary foot,
Since old long ago.

We two have sported in the stream,
From morning sun till dinner-time,
But seas between us braid have roared
Since old long ago. 
Since old long ago, my dear,
Since old long ago.
But seas between us braid have roared
Since old long ago.

And ther's a hand, my trusty friend,
And give's a hand of thine;
We'll take a cup of kindness yet,
Since old long ago.
Since old long ago, my dear,
Since old long ago,
We'll take a cup of kindness yet, 
Since old long ago.