The poem is influenced by Fergusson's `Caller Oysters', also written in the Standard Habbie stanza, which Burns made his own.
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, cheerful
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Above
Painch, tripe, or thairm: paunch/guts
Weel are ye wordy of a grace worthy
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 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 Digging
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich! -steaming
Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive: spoon
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve, bellies/soon
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, burst
'Bethanket!' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow, sicken
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner, disgust
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash, weak/rush
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit; fist/nut
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, choice
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned, trim
Like taps o' thrissle. tops/thistle
Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware watery
That jaups in luggies; splashes/porringers
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!