A Recipe for Burns Night Robert Burns Born

A Recipe for Burns’ Night

Robert Burns Born on 25 th 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 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' 28 th 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 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 "Poems. Chiefly 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 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 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 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 26 th 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 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 21 st 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 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, 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, 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 acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should 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. 7. 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! 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 17 th 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’ Reply