Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader always likes to celebrate Robert Burns’ Birthday. It is a time for feasting and good cheer. Robert Burns was born this day, January 25th, in 1759. He is the greatest poet of Scotland - their Bard.
Tonight, your Maximum Leader (as he did last year) plans a Villainette & Wee Villain friendly Burns Supper. We’ll start with the Selkirk Grace. Then move on to Meatloaf (replacing the Haggis) and finish off with trifle. We’ll likely read some Burns poems.
Excursus: Your Maximum Leader is collecting all sorts of Haggis recipies for the upcoming Easter lamb-fest at the Smallholder’s farm. He needs to get with the Smallholder to make sure the innards are prepared correctly by the butcher… Butcher… Heh. Reminds your Maximum Leader of one of his favourite lines from one of his favourite Mike Myers movie… “So… Charlie teels me yewr a bootcher.”
At dinner tonight, your Maximum Leader will, most likely, be the only one drinking whisky. He will also, most likely, be the only one wearing a kilt. There is a chance that we can fit the Wee Villain into a little mini kilt we have. Perhaps this is an opportunity to photo-blog?
Your Maximum Leader will now present for your reading pleasure two Burns poems. The first is one is that great poem about the national drink of Scotland.
John Barleycorn: A Ballad
There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and plough’d him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris’d them all.
The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm’d wi’ pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter’d mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show’d he began to fail.
His colour sicken’d more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They’ve taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell’d him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o’er and o’er.
They filledup a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear’d,
They toss’d him to and fro.
They wasted, o’er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us’d him worst of all,
For he crush’d him between two stones.
And they hae taen his very heart’s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
‘Twill make your courage rise.
‘Twill make a man forget his woe;
‘Twill heighten all his joy;
‘Twill make the widow’s heart to sing,
Tho’ the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland!
And here is the second. This one is for the ladies, of whom Burns (and your Maximum Leader) was quite fond.
My love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June:
My love is like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So 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.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt with the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love.
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Your Maximum Leader bids that you take a moment and read a Rabbie Burns poem today. And if you are so inclined, have a little dram of whisky to toast him too.
Carry on.
UPDATE: Read about Burns & Scotch with Eric and Brian.
