To+A+Mouse+-+By+Robert+Burns

> Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim'rous beastie, > O, what a 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 are 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!