On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
1Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
2O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
3Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
4 Wi’ bickerin brattle!
5I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
6 Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
7I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
8Has broken Nature’s social union,
9An’ justifies that ill opinion,
10 Which makes thee startle,
11At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
12 An’ fellow-mortal!
13I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
14What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
15A daimen-icker in a thrave
16 ’S a sma’ request:
17I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
18 An’ never miss ’t!
19Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
20It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
21An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
22 O’ foggage green!
23An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
24 Baith snell an’ keen!
25Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
26An’ weary Winter comin fast,
27An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
28 Thou thought to dwell,
29Till crash! the cruel coulter past
30 Out thro’ thy cell.
31That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
32Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
33Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
34 But house or hald,
35To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
36 An’ cranreuch cauld!
37But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
38In proving foresight may be vain:
39The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
40 Gang aft agley,
41An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
42 For promis’d joy!
43Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
44The present only toucheth thee:
45But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
46 On prospects drear!
47An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
48 I guess an’ fear!
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
1Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
2O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
3Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
4 Wi’ bickerin brattle!
5I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
6 Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
7I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
8Has broken Nature’s social union,
9An’ justifies that ill opinion,
10 Which makes thee startle,
11At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
12 An’ fellow-mortal!
13I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
14What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
15A daimen-icker in a thrave
16 ’S a sma’ request:
17I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
18 An’ never miss ’t!
19Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
20It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
21An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
22 O’ foggage green!
23An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
24 Baith snell an’ keen!
25Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
26An’ weary Winter comin fast,
27An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
28 Thou thought to dwell,
29Till crash! the cruel coulter past
30 Out thro’ thy cell.
31That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
32Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
33Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
34 But house or hald,
35To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
36 An’ cranreuch cauld!
37But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
38In proving foresight may be vain:
39The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
40 Gang aft agley,
41An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
42 For promis’d joy!
43Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
44The present only toucheth thee:
45But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
46 On prospects drear!
47An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
48 I guess an’ fear!
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin 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 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 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 win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big 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 monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d 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 promis’d joy!
Still, thou art 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,
I guess an’ fear!
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Robert Burns Encyclopedia — Find information here on Robert Burns's life, poems, and the people and places he knew.
Robert Burns Night — Learn about Robert Burns Night, an annual event celebrating Burns's life and works, and find digital resources like a Robert Burns app and podcast.
Robert Burns Biography — Learn about Robert Burns's life in this detailed biography, which focuses on his growth as a poet.
Recitation of "To a Mouse" — Listen to "To a Mouse" recited by the actor Christopher Tait, an actor who performs at Burns Nights and other Scottish events around the world.
"To a Mouse" Original Printing — View a digitized copy of the "Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect" (sometimes called the Kilmarnock Edition), in which "To a Mouse" was first published in 1785.