Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald, Without, holding
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, endure
An' cranreuch cauld! hoar-frost
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, alone
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley, Go oft askew
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain leave
For promis'd joy.