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Poem by Robert Burns


Address To The Toothache


MY curse upon your venomd stang,
That shoots my torturd 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 colic squeezes;
Our neighbours 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 oer 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 numerous human dools,
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rakd i the mools-
    Sad sight to see!
The tricks o knaves, or fash o fools,
    Thou bearst the gree.

Whereer that place be priests ca hell,
Whence a the tones o misry yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
    In dreadfu raw,
Thou, Toothache, surely bearst the bell
    Amang them a!

O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeal,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel
    In gore a shoe-thick; -
Gie a the faes o Scotlands weal
    A towmonts Toothache!

- 1795

                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Tam Samsons Elegy
  2. To The Same
  3. O Whare Bid Ye Get
  4. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face
  5. My Ladys Gown Theres Gairs Upont


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