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Old 01-24-2011, 03:55 PM   #1782
zero
 
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Join Date: May 2004
Location: l mn
Posts: 13,853
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.

- robert burns
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