Address To The Tooth-Ache

My curse upon your venom'd stang,

That shoots my tortur'd gums alang;

And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,

    Wi' gnawing vengeance;

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

    Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,

Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;

Our neighbors' sympathy may ease us,

    Wi' pitying moan;

But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases —

    They mock our groan!

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!

I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,

As round the fire the giglets keckle,

    To see me loup;

While raving mad, I wish a heckle

    Were in their doup.

O' a' the num'rous human dools,

Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools

,

Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools,

    Sad sight to see !

The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,

    Thou bear'st the gree.

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,

Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,

And rankd plagues their numbers tell,

    In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell

    Amang them a'!

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,

That gars the notes of discord squeel,

Till daft mankiud aft dance a reel

    In gore a shoe-thick; —

Gie a' the foes o' Scotland's weal

    A towmond's Tooth-ache!