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!

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.