Address to a Haggis
Robert Burns
1759 to 1796
How to Play Cloze Games
A cloze game is a reading comprehension activity where certain words are removed from a text and you need to fill in the blanks with the correct words. This helps improve vocabulary, reading comprehension, and understanding of context.
Type In Mode
In this mode, you can:
- Type your answers directly into the blank spaces
- Get instant feedback as you type - correct answers show green, incorrect show red
- Use the keyboard for faster input and navigation
- Submit answers to check your overall progress
Drag & Drop Mode
Switch to Drag & Drop mode to:
- Drag words from the word bank and drop them into blank spaces
- Click on words in the bank to automatically fill blanks
- Click on blanks to select or clear them
Game Features
- Word Skip Selector: Choose how frequently words are removed (every 4th, 5th, 6th word, etc.)
- Progress Bar: Shows your completion percentage
- Color Feedback: Green for correct answers, red for incorrect ones
- Audio Player: Listen to the musical arrangement while you play
- Show Missing Words: View all the correct answers if you need help
- Reset Game: Start over with the same poem
- New Game: Get a different random poem
- Print Poem: Print the poem with blanks for offline practice
Winning
When you fill all the blanks correctly, you'll see a congratulations message and confetti animation! The progress bar will show 100% completion.
Tips
- Read the entire poem first to understand the context
- Look for grammatical clues (verb tense, articles, etc.)
- Use the audio player to hear the rhythm and flow
- Start with easier word skip settings (like every 8th word) and work your way up
- Don't be afraid to use "Show Missing Words" if you get stuck!
- Try both Type In and Drag & Drop modes to see which you prefer
Missing Words
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife 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!
Then, horn horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak spew
Wi' perfect scunner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu'
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap 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 them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
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