TO A MOUSE
Reading edition
On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plow, November, 1785
By Robert Burns
Wee, sleekit,5-1 cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle!5-2 I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murdering pattle!5-3
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-icker6-4 in a thrave6-5 ’S a sma’ request: I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave6-6 And never miss’t!
THOU NEED NA START AWA
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin’! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage7-7 green! An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin’, Baith snell7-8 and keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, And weary winter comin’ fast, And cozie, here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter7-9 past Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald,7-10 To thole7-11 the winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch7-12 cauld!
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,7-13 In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men, Gang aft a-gley,7-14 An’ lea’e us nought but grief and pain, For promis’d joy.
Still them are 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,8-15 I guess an’ fear.
Robert Burns 1759-1796
