Tae a Moose is one of my favourite Rabbie Burns poems. Here's another:
ADDRESS TO A HAGGIS
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.
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.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.
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?
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' 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,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.
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!
Traditionally, some, or all of this poem is recited before slashing open and serving the haggis, a wee beastie found in the Scottish highlands. It has long legs on one side of its body and short ones on the other, so that it can run up the sides of mountains. When you're having Burns night dinner, generally, a lot of whisky is consumed, often from different regions of Scotland, followed by a Ceilidh (pronounced cay-lee). I've never been to a proper Ceilidh with a proper Scottish band, traditional dancing, and much merriment, because it's really a very expensive party, but I'd love to. If someone would give me back my kilt, then I'd be jamming! I have a rather less than traditional celebration. I have my haggis, neeps (turnips) and tatties (potatoes) followed by whisky, then read a couple of Burns poems to myself. Maybe one day, I'll get going to a Ceilidh. 
