Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/132

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Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off
With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long e'er night, cut down, it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.

 

Divider from 'The Beauties of Burn's Poems' a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819

 

ADDRESS to the TOOTHACH.

Written by the Author at a time when he was grievously tormented with that Disorder.

My curse on your envenom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
And thro' my lugs gies mony a bang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance!
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter twang,
Like racking engines.

Adown my beard the slavers trickle,
I cast the wee stools o'er the meikle,
While round the fire the hav'rels keckle,
To see me loup;
I curse and ban, and wish a heckle
Were i' their doup.