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"On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and on
this night lovers of Burns or Scotland or conviviality will gather around the world to celebrate the fact. Burns was elevated to national hero in his lifetime and cult figure soon afterwards, the first Burns Night celebration occurring almost immediately upon his death. This is due partly to the poetry and partly to the legendary details of the ploughman-poet life -- his years as a poor tenant farmer; his enthusiasm for women (fifteen children, six born out of wedlock); a patriotism that would not allow him to take money for his songs; his death at thirty-seven. Though many poems are philosophical and political, there are more than enough on the Highlands-lassies-wee dram themes to go around this evening. Amidst much piping and toasting and auld-lang-syne-ing, there will be an enthusiastic reading of "Ode to a Haggis" -- more enthusiastic, for some, than its eating -- in which Burns first trashes the cuisine and character of the French and then trumpets that "Great Chieftain o' the pudding-race": .. . . 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 feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro' bluidy 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's wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r, Gie her a Haggis!" [or, as translated for us non-haggis eaters] "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!" (quote pilfered from steve king, today in literature web site, and robert burns) |
#2
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![]() "Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() yfitp wayno (hae' ye got a lassie?) |
#3
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Wayne Harrison wrote:
"Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() I'll assume a "Happy B'day" is in order. -- TL, Tim ------------------------ http://css.sbcma.com/timj |
#4
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Wayne Harrison wrote:
"Jeff Miller" wrote: "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() Today is the birthday of a country philosopher, a soulful poet, an enthusiastic womanizer and Robert Burns *too* ? What are the odds ? ;-) -- Ken Fortenberry |
#5
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On Tue, 25 Jan 2005 09:36:52 -0500, "Wayne Harrison"
wrote: "Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() One of your ex's I presume? g -- Charlie... http://www.chocphoto.com/ - photo galleries http://www.chocphoto.com/roff |
#6
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Charlie Choc wrote:
On Tue, 25 Jan 2005 09:36:52 -0500, "Wayne Harrison" wrote: "Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() One of your ex's I presume? g no...i think they would be within the "worthless..." category. g |
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On Thu, 27 Jan 2005 06:54:55 -0500, Jeff Miller
wrote: One of your ex's I presume? g no...i think they would be within the "worthless..." category. g Ah, so Wayno's finally admitted his 35mm film cameras and T&T rods are worthless consumer goods. g -- Charlie... http://www.chocphoto.com/ - photo galleries http://www.chocphoto.com/roff |
#8
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![]() "Charlie Choc" wrote in message ... On Thu, 27 Jan 2005 06:54:55 -0500, Jeff Miller wrote: One of your ex's I presume? g no...i think they would be within the "worthless..." category. g Ah, so Wayno's finally admitted his 35mm film cameras and T&T rods are worthless consumer goods. g Hm.... Or, he could be saying that he didn't buy enough 35mm film cameras and T&T rods. Wolfgang who should have bought more books. |
#9
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![]() "Wayne Harrison" wrote in message ... "Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and, on this day in 1942, one of the world's greatest compulsive purchasers of ultimately worthless consumer goods was born in salisbury, north carolina. ![]() yfitp wayno (hae' ye got a lassie?) my best to ya, uncle wayno snake |
#10
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Are you be cooking yor own haggis today or be going to a "Burns Supper"?
This year I'm not making it to one. I had an oatmeal scone with me coffee. You should be takeing Wayne to one as the drinking of expensive scotch goes on and on. I like the poetry and pipes but have give up trying acquire a taste for Scotch. It's like feeding ice cream to a pig. "Jeff Miller" wrote in message news:9UrJd.23205$EG1.19350@lakeread04... "On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and on this night lovers of Burns or Scotland or conviviality will gather around the world to celebrate the fact. Burns was elevated to national hero in his lifetime and cult figure soon afterwards, the first Burns Night celebration occurring almost immediately upon his death. This is due partly to the poetry and partly to the legendary details of the ploughman-poet life -- his years as a poor tenant farmer; his enthusiasm for women (fifteen children, six born out of wedlock); a patriotism that would not allow him to take money for his songs; his death at thirty-seven. Though many poems are philosophical and political, there are more than enough on the Highlands-lassies-wee dram themes to go around this evening. Amidst much piping and toasting and auld-lang-syne-ing, there will be an enthusiastic reading of "Ode to a Haggis" -- more enthusiastic, for some, than its eating -- in which Burns first trashes the cuisine and character of the French and then trumpets that "Great Chieftain o' the pudding-race": . . . 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 feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro' bluidy 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's wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r, Gie her a Haggis!" [or, as translated for us non-haggis eaters] "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!" (quote pilfered from steve king, today in literature web site, and robert burns) |
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