My Curse Upon Your Venom'd Stang

I've got four bad teeth and possibly a cranky wisdom tooth acting up today so I'm going to be lazy and let Robert Burns do all my talking for me today. I couldn't say it any better myself anyways. The title is linked to a Google scan of an 1887 copy of The Complete Works. The poem is on page 61 and the picture on page 70.

Address to a Toothache

by Robert Burns

My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang,
An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang,
Wh' gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
Our neebors sympathize to ease us
Wi' pitying moan;
But thee! - thou hell o' a' diseases,
They mock our groan!

A' down my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle
To see me loup,
An' raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were i' their doup!

Of a' the numerous human dools
Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools,
Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools
Thou bear'st the gree!

Where'er 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 bear'st the bell
Amang them a'!

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o' discord squeal,
Till daft humankind aft dance a reel
In gore a shoe-thick,
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
A townmond's toothache!