MY curse upon your venomd stang,
That shoots my torturd gums alang,
An thro my lug gies mony a twang,
Wi gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
When fevers burn, or argues freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes,
Our neibors sympathy can ease us,
Wi pitying moan;
But theethou hell o a diseases
They mock our groan.
Adown my beard the slavers trickle
I throw the wee stools oer the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle,
To see me loup,
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were in their doup!
In a the numerous human dools,
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools,
Or worthy friens rakd i the mools,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o knaves, or fash ofools,
Thou bearst the gree!
Whereer that place be priests ca hell,
Where a the tones o misery yell,
An 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 o discord squeel,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel
In gore, a shoe-thick,
Gie a the faes o SCOTLANDS weal
A townmonds toothache!