[Lyric] To a Mouse (Robert Burns)

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie
O, what panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave
An' never miss't!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast
An' weary Winter comin fast
An' cozie here, beneath the blast
Thou thought to dwell
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble
But house or hald
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane
In proving foresight may be vain
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promis'd joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee
But Och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see
I guess an' fear!