Burns Supper

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.

I wont bore you with the other 25 verses of Robert Burns' "Address to the Haggis", but suffice to say the hunt was successful and dinner was yummy.