His locked, lettered, braw brass collar, Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
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!
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.
Their sighing, canting, grace-proud faces, their three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces.
All my fears and cares are of this world; if there is another, an honest man has nothing to fear from it.