Address to the Tooth-Ache
(Written by the Author at a time when he was greviously tormented by that Disorder.)

MY curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang,
An' thro' my lug gies monie a bang
Wi' gnawin vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines.

A' down my beard the slavers trickle,
I cast the wee stools owre the meikle,
While round the fire the hav’rels keckle,
To see me loup;
I curse an’ ban, an’ wish a heckle
Were i' their doup.

Whan fevers burn, or ague freeze us,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeeze us,
Our neebors sympathize, to ease us,
Wi' pitying moan;
But thou--------the hell o' a' diseases,
They mock our groan.

O’ a' the num'rous human dools,
Ill har’sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends laid i' the mools,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools,
Thou bear'st the gree,

Whare'er that place be, priests ca' hell,
Whare a' the tones o' mis’ry yell,
An' plagues in ranked number tell
In deadly raw,
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell
Aboon them a'!

O! thou grim mischief-makin chiel,
That gars the notes o' discord squeel,
Till human-kind aft dance a reel
In gore a shoe thick,
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal