Here lies a faulse Marquis:
Whose title is shamed
If ever he rises
It will be to be damned.
TO A MOUSE.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin' tim'rous beastie.
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty.
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,