The Poetical Works of Robert Burns/Address to the Toothache
For other versions of this work, see Address to the Toothache.
ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACE,
WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT DISORDER.
My curse upon thy venom'd stang,That shoots my tortur'd gums alang;And thro' my lugs gies monie a twang,Wi' gnawing vengeance;Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,Like racking engines!
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes;Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,Wi' pitying moan;But thee—thou hell o' a' diseases,Aye mocks our groan!
Adown my beard the slavers trickle!I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,As round the fire the giglets keckleTo see me loup;While, raving mad, I wish a heckleWere in their doup.
O' a' the numerous 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 ranked plagues their numbers tell,In dreadfu' raw,Thou, Toothach, surely bear'st the bellAmang them a'!
O thou grim mischief-making chiel,That gars the notes of discord squeel,Till daft mankind aft dance a reelIn gore a shoe-thick;—Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's wealA towmont's Toothach!