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Robert Burns - Address To The Tooth-Ache
Work rating: Medium

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!
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