The Beauties of Burn's Poems/Address to the Toothach

by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

For other versions of this work, see Address to the Toothache.

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 curse and ban, and wish a heckle
Were i' their doup.

When fevers burn, or agues freeze us,
Rheumatics gnaw or cholics squeeze us,
Our neibours sympathize to ease us,
Wi' pitying mean;
But thou—the hell o' a' diseases,
They mock our groan.

O' a' the numerous human dools,
Ill harsts, 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 great

Whare'er that place be, priests ca' hell,
Whar a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,
And plagues in ranked number tell
In deadly raw,
Thou, Toothach, surely bear'st the bell;
Aboon them a'.

O thou grim mischief-makin chiel,
That gars the chords o' discord squeel,
Till human-kind aft dance a reel
In gore, a shoe-thick,
Gae a' the faes o' Scotland's weel
A towmond's toothack.

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