wee,sleekit,cowrin,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 special union,
an' justifies that ill opinion,
which makes thee startle
at me,thy poor,earth-born companion,
an' fellow-mortal!
i doubt na,whiles,but though 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 winds are strewin!
an' naething,now,to build a new ane,
o' foggage green!
an' bleak december's winds ensuin,
baith snell an' keen!
thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
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 mony a weary nibble!
now thou's turned 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 promised joy!
still thou art blest,compared 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!
the state that i am in