Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 138. Address to the Toothache |
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| MY curse upon your venom’d stang, | |
| That shoots my tortur’d gums alang, | |
| An’ thro’ my lug gies mony a twang, | |
| Wi’ gnawing vengeance, | |
| Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang, | 5 |
| Like racking engines! | |
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| When fevers burn, or argues freezes, | |
| Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes, | |
| Our neibor’s sympathy can ease us, | |
| Wi’ pitying moan; | 10 |
| But thee—thou hell o’ a’ diseases— | |
| They mock our groan. | |
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| Adown my beard the slavers trickle | |
| I throw the wee stools o’er the mickle, | |
| While round the fire the giglets keckle, | 15 |
| To see me loup, | |
| While, raving mad, I wish a heckle | |
| Were in their doup! | |
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| In a’ the numerous human dools, | |
| Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, | 20 |
| Or worthy frien’s rak’d i’ the mools,— | |
| Sad sight to see! | |
| The tricks o’ knaves, or fash o’fools, | |
| Thou bear’st the gree! | |
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| Where’er that place be priests ca’ hell, | 25 |
| Where a’ the tones o’ misery yell, | |
| An’ ranked plagues their numbers tell, | |
| In dreadfu’ raw, | |
| Thou, TOOTHACHE, surely bear’st the bell, | |
| Amang them a’! | 30 |
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| O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, | |
| That gars the notes o’ discord squeel, | |
| Till daft mankind aft dance a reel | |
| In gore, a shoe-thick, | |
| Gie a’ the faes o’ SCOTLAND’S weal | 35 |
| A townmond’s toothache! | |
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