address to the toothache
my curse upon your venom'd stang,
that shoots my tortur'd gums ang,
an' thro' my lug gies mony a twang,
wi' gnawing vengeance,
tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
like rag engines!
when fevers burn, ues freezes,
rheumatiaw, or colics squeezes,
our neibor's sympathy ease us,
wi' pitying moan;
but thee—thou hell o' a' diseases—
aye mocks roan.
adown my beard the svers trickle
i throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
while round the fire the giglets keckle,
to see
Address To The Toothache(1/3)