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A Recipe for
Burns’ Night
Robert Burns
Born on 25th January 1759 in Alloway, Ayrshire,
to William Burness, a poor tenant farmer, and
Agnes Broun, Robert Burns was the eldest of
seven. He spent his youth working his father's
farm, but in spite of his poverty he was extremely
well read - at the insistence of his father, who
employed a tutor for Robert and younger brother
Gilbert. At 15 Robert was the principal worker
on the farm and this prompted him to start
writing in an attempt to find "some kind of
counterpoise for his circumstances." It was at this
tender age that Burns penned his first verse, "My
Handsome Nell", which was an ode to the other
subjects that dominated his life, Whisky and the
ladies.
– Rantin', rovin', Robin
There was a lad was born in Kyle,
But what'n a day o' what'n a style
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.
Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin' rovin' Robin.
Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'
Blew hansel in on Robin.
Possibly written in
flippant
celebration of
Burns' 28th
birthday, 'Robin'
refers to himself
–
He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',
But aye a heart aboon them a';
He'll be a credit till us a'.
We'll a' be proud o' Robin.
But sure as three times three mak nine,
I see by ilka score and line,
This chap will dearly like our kin',
So leez me on thee, Robin.
Guid faith, quo' scho, I doubt you, Sir,
Ye gar the lasses lie aspar,
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,
So blessings on thee, Robin!
The gossip keekit in his loof,
Quo' scho, Wha lives will see the proof,
Robin was a rovin' boy,
This waly boy will be nae coof,
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
I think we'll ca' him Robin.
Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin' rovin' Robin.
Early Years
When his father died in 1784, Robert
and his brother became partners in
the farm. However, Robert was more
interested in the romantic nature of
poetry than the arduous graft of
ploughing and, having had some
misadventures with the ladies
(resulting in several illegitimate
children, including twins to the
woman who would become his wife,
Jean Armour), he planned to escape
to the safer, sunnier climes of the
West Indies.
A Man's A Man For A' That
Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by
We daur be puir for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that
Our toils obscure, and a' that
The rank is but the guinea's stamp
The man's the gowd for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord
Wha struts, and stares and a' that
Tho' hundreds worship at his word
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that
His ribbon, star and a' that
the man o' independence mind
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A king can make a belted knight
A marquis, duke and a' that
But an honest man's aboon his micht
Gude faith, he maunna fa' all that
For a' that, and a' that
Their dignities and a' that
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may
As come it will for a' that
That sense and worth o'er a' the earth
May bear the gree and a' that
For a' that, and a' that
It's coming yet, for a' that
When man to man the world o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.
To Edinburgh
However, at the point of abandoning
farming, his first collection "PoemsChiefly in the Scottish Dialect Kilmarnock Edition" (a set of poems
essentially based on a broken love
affair), was published and received
much critical acclaim. This, together
with pride of parenthood, made him
stay in Scotland. He moved around
the country, eventually arriving in
Edinburgh, where he mingled in the
illustrious circles of the artists and
writers who were agog at the
"Ploughman Poet."
Annie Laurie
Maxwelton's braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew
And 'twas there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true.
Gave me her promise true
Which ne'er forgot will be
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and die.
Her brow is like the snowdrift
Her throat is like the swan
Her face it is the fairest
That e'er the sun shone on.
That e'er the sun shone on
And dark blue is her e'e
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and die.
Like dew on th'gowan lying
Is th' fa' o'her fairy feet
And like the winds in summer sighing
Her voice is low and sweet.
Her voice is low and sweet
And she's a' the world to me
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doon and die.
Fame
In a matter of weeks he was transformed
from local hero to a national celebrity,
fussed over by the Edinburgh literati of
the day, and Jean Armour's father
allowed her to marry him, now that he
was no longer a lowly wordsmith. Alas,
the trappings of fame did not bring
fortune and he took up a job as an
exciseman to supplement the meagre
income. Whilst collecting taxes he
continued to write, contributing songs to
the likes of James Johnston's "Scot's
Musical Museum" and George
Thomson's "Select Collection of Original
Scottish Airs." In all, more than 400 of
Burns' songs are still in existence.
Scots Wha Hae Wi' Wallace Bled
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victory!
Now's the day an' now's the hour
See the front of battle lour
See approach proud Edward's pow'r
Chains and slavery!
Written after Burns
visited the field of
battle at Bannockburn,
near Stirling
on 26th August 1787,
where Robert the
Bruce won a
temporary liberty for
Scotland from King
Edward II of England
Wha would be a traitor knave?
Wha would fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king an' law
Freedom's sword would strongly draw
Freeman stand and freeman fa'
Let him on wi' me!
By oppression's woes and pains
By your sons in servile chains
We will drain our dearest veins
But they shall be free.
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in ev'ry foe
Liberty's in every blow
Let us do or die!
The Masterpieces
The last years of Burns' life
were devoted to penning great
poetic masterpieces such as
The Lea Rig, Tam O'Shanter
and a Red, Red Rose. He died
on 21st July 1796 aged 37 of
heart disease exacerbated by
the hard manual work he
undertook when he was young.
His death occurred on the
same day as his wife Jean gave
birth to his last son, Maxwell.
Tam O’Shanter
Composed to accompany an
engraving of Alloway Kirk.
Loosely based on Douglas
Graham of Shanter whose wife
Helen was a superstitious shrew.
He was prone to drunkenness on
market day, and on one such
occasion the wags of Ayr
clipped his horses tail - a fact he
explained away by a story of
witches which mollified his
incredulous wife
WHEN chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet;
As market-days are wearing late,
An folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm…
…Now, wha this tale o truth shall read,
Ilk man, and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd,
Or cutty sarks rin in your mind,
Think! ye may buy the joys o'er dear:
Remember Tam o Shanter's mare
My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose
Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June
Oh, my love is like a melody
That's sweetly played in tune
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.
An old ballad
reworked by Burns,
first published by
Pietro Urbani in
April 1794
'Til all the seas gang dry my, my dear
And the rocks melt with the sun
And I will love thee still, my dear
While the sands of life shall run
But faretheewell, my only love
Oh, faretheewell a while
And I will come again, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile
And I will come again, my love
Tho' 't were ten thousand mile.
Immortal Memory
On the day of his burial more than
10,000 people came to watch and
pay their respects. However, his
popularity then was nothing
compared to the heights it has
reached since.
On the anniversary of his birth, Scots
both at home and abroad celebrate
Robert Burns with a supper, where
they address the haggis, the ladies
and whisky. A celebration which
would undoubtedly make him proud.
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?
Chorus
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
A traditional ballad
reworked by Burns, the
tune had been in print
since 1700.
Described by the poet
as 'the old song of the
olden times, and which
has never been in print
nor even in manuscript,
until I took it down from
an old man's singing'.
We twa hae run about the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl't in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine
But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.
And surely ye'll be your pint stoup
And surely I'll be mine
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
Burns’ Night Tradition
The Haggis
1 sheep's pluck (stomach bag)
2 lb.. dry oatmeal 1 lb. suet
1 lb. lamb's liver 2 1/2 cups
stock 1 large chopped onion
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper,
Jamaica pepper and salt
Address to a Haggis
The closing stanza was
composed extempore
during a dinner at the
home of
John Morrison, a
Mauchline cabinetmaker, and completed
soon after Burns
arrived in Edinburgh
1.
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 of a grace
As lang's my arm.
5.
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?
2.
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.
6.
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
3.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
7.
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 bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
4.
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:8.
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
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
Selkirk Grace
Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it ;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit
Probably dating from the 17th
Century, delivered by Burns
in the presence
of the Earl of Selkirk, at
Kirkudbright
Burns’ Night
Itinerary
Selkirk Grace
Starter
Piping in the Haggis
Address to the Haggis
Main Course
The Immortal Memory
Pudding
Toast to the Lassies
Lassies’ Reply