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By David Herbison

that had cut a portion of the author's web

My curse upon you for a mouse,
You’re grown of late sae very crouse,
You never fail to range the house
Frae wa’ to wa’,
Destroying things that are o’ use
When I’m awa.

‘Twas but last night, when I was oot,
You got amang the rods your snoot,
And cut, o’ my guid wab, a bout –
And something mair;
Deil fill your belly fou o’ soot
Neist time you’re there!

While e’er you kept frae aff the loom,
I ne’er was seen to scowl or gloom;
But when you there began to toom
Your swollen bags,
I hunted you frae room to room,
Wi’ poison’d rags.

But, faith, you had mair wit than me –
The poison’d stuff you wadna pree;
You shunned it, as the umber bee
Shuns flower and leaf,
That we in women’s bonnets see,
In bass relief.

I know nought else you’re fit to do,
Unless to run the pantry through,
And cut and hash a’ things in view
Just as you please,
To satisfy your greedy mou’
On beef or cheese.

And had you kept your hiding there,
While I had bread or beef to spare,
You would hae got an ample share,
Withouten fail,
Nor cat nor dog e’er touched a hair
That’s in your tail.

But there ava you wadna rest;
Whene’er the sun sank in the west,
You left behind your cozy nest,
To cut and double,
Amang the yarn that I had dressed
Wi’ care and trouble.

Your evil tricks you ne’er gave o’er,
Until my wab was cut and tore,
Which made my wife and weans deplore
To see it hing,
Cut up as wab was ne’er before –
Vile useless thing!

Nor did you fail my books to paw,
And tear my poems and sangs awa’;
Full often I was forced to draw
Them frae your bed,
When scarce a line amang them a’
Could weel be read.

But, should you e’er appear again,
To sport alang our auld hearth-stane,
By cat or trap I’ll hae you taen
Before an hour!
I’ll mak you sing a waeful strain
When in my power!

I see you’re anxious to get through
The twa bit threads that’s set for you;
But, cut them – and you’ll never do
A deed again,
Will cause a minstrel to pursue
Sae sad a strain.

Nae doubt you think you’ll get the meal,
And aff to some dark corner steal,
Where you may revel, rant, and reel,
For hours together;
But, faith, I’m sure you’ll shortly feel
An endless tether!

Aye, aye! – you’ve done the deed at last!
You now are held in fetters fast!
Your cares and troubles a’ are past –
I’ll sing again,
Through a’ the house, the joyfu’ blast,
Death has you ta’en.