This is an attempt to make Robert Burns world-famous poem more accessible to a modern urban audience. Burns lived in a stone country cottage, a world away from how we live now. Not only his archaic dialect words, but also his rustic sentimentality, are alien to today's people. I was inspired to bring it up-to-date by similar treatments accorded to Shakespeare's plays for the school audience.
To a Mouse
Wee sleekit, cowrin' tim'rous beastie,
O what a panic's in thy breastie;
It's wise ye've run away so hasty,
For ye've been nibblin' at ma pastry.
Furtively ye steal ma food,
And what ye leave is nae so guid;
Ye reek so bad I can aye smell it,
Ye've strewn ma flat wi' wee brown pellets.
Behind the plasterboard ye scurry,
Ye're always in an awfu' hurry;
Both night and day ye're scamp'rin' proud,
Frae one so small, it sounds quite loud.
If I can lay ma hands on ye,
I'll smash ye tae a pulp.
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