Speaking to attendants at the $100 a head dinner, newly elected MP for Manawatu LeChevalierMal-Fait said;

Last weeks result was a big win for Heartland for a new party going from not existing a few months ago to the third largest party by vote share nipping even at the heels of National and surpassing Alliance and it is down to people like you.

Voters who gave Heartland a chance, volunteers who knocked on doors and got the message out and generous donors who helped fund our nascent parties operations.

My message to you here in Manawatu about the term ahead is simple, we had a simple message at the election we are going to stick to it;

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1. Getting Alliance out of government - our strong victory in this electorate and nationwide does that much good.
2. Restore a balanced budget,
3. And begin to reinvest once again in the Heartland - our jobs, skills, infrastructure and exports.

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In any coalition we enter into we will stay true to these priorities and fight for the Heartland, we will aim to be MPs and if successful a government that will back the great New Zealand potato industry and our iconic sheep and meat industry and in that spirit I present to you - the Haggis.

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Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm :

Weel are ye wordy o'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 you up wi' ready sleight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like ony ditch; And then,

O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin', rich!

--

Then, horn for horn, they stretch 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.

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Is there that owre his French ragout

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad make 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 wither'd rash,

His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;

His nieve a nit;

Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!

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But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread.

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll mak it whissle;

An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,

Like taps o' thrissle.

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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!