On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785 Little, artful, cowering, timid beast, Oh, what a panic is in your heart! You need not start away so hasty With bickering prattle! I would be loath to run and chase you, With murdering scraper I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes you startle At me, your poor, earth born companion And fellow mortal! I doubt not, sometimes, that you may steal; What then? Poor beast, you must live! An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves Is a small request; I will get a bless