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To a Mouse. By Robert Burns. On Turning her 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!
- Address to the Devil
When the best wark-lume i' the house, By cantraip wit, Is...
- Afton Water
Poems, readings, poetry news and the entire 110-year archive...
- Comin Thro' the Rye
But a' the lads they loe me, and what the waur am I. Gin a...
- Ae Fond Kiss
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! Thine be ilka joy and...
- Address to the Devil
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men. Gang aft agley, An’lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy! In other words, both mice and men often find that their plans are thwarted by that fell meddler, fate. The ‘joy’ were thought we were ‘promis’d’ is replaced by ‘grief an’ pain’.
27 sie 2024 · The phrase ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’ is another way of saying that no matter how well you try to prepare for something, something could still occur, leading to possible failure, or a shift in plans.
John Steinbeck took the title of his 1937 novel Of Mice and Men from a line contained in the penultimate stanza. The 1997 novel The Best Laid Plans by Sidney Sheldon also draws its title from this line, and so do the novel of the same name by Canadian author Terry Fallis and the film series based on it.
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 are blest, compared wi’ me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e’e, On prospects drear! An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see, I guess an’ fear!
John Steinbeck’s 1937 novel Of Mice and Men revolves around the notion that, whatever careful plans are made, things don’t always go as expected. It took both its title and its theme from Burns’ poem.
But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy. Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
