Page:Beauties of Burn's poems.pdf/132

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Thou layest them, with all their cares, In everlasting sleep; As with a food Thou tak'st them off With overwhelming sweep.

They flourish like the morning flow'r, In beauty's pride array'd; But long e'er night, cut down, it lies All witherid and decay'd.

 

Divider from 'The Beauties of Burn's Poems' a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819

 

ADDRESS to the TOOTHACH.

Written by the Author at a time when he was grievously tormented with that Disorder.

MY curse on your envenom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, And thro' my lugs gies mony a bang, Wi' gnawing vengeance! Tearing my nerves wi' bitter twang, Like racking engines.

Adown my beard the slavers trickle, I cast the wee stools o'er the meikle, While round the fire the hav'rels keckle, To see me loup; I curge and ban, and wish a heckle Were i' their doup.