TO A MOUSE
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-icker[6-4] in a thrave[6-5]
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin’ wi’ the lave[6-6]
And never miss’t!
