buttocks]
Your pin wad help to mend a mill [skewer]
In time o' need;
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

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

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive, [spoon]
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve [well-swelled bellies soon]
Are bent like drums;
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, [burst]
'Be-thankit!' hums.

Is there that o'er his French _ragout_,
Or _olio_ that wad staw a sow, [sicken]
Or _fricassee_ wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering scornfu' view [disgust]
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash, [feeble, rush]
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit: [fist, nut]
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, [ample fist]
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, [crop]
Like taps o' thrissle. [thistle]

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware [watery stuff]
That jaups in luggies; [splashes, porringers]
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

A BARD'S EPITAPH

Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, [Too]
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, [bashful, cringe]
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,