My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang;
And thro' my lugs gies mony a twang,
 Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
 Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;
Our neighbors' sympathy may ease us,
 Wi' pitying moan;
But thee -- thou hell o' a' diseases --
 They mock our groan!

Adown my beard the slavers trickle!
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
As round the fire the giglets keckle,
 To see me loup;
While raving mad, I wish a heckle
 Were in their doup.

O' a' the num'rous human dools,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends rak'd 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,
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell,
And rankd plagues their numbers tell,
 In dreadfu' raw,
Thou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell
 Amang them a'!

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeel,
Till daft mankiud aft dance a reel
 In gore a shoe-thick; --
Gie a' the foes o' Scotland's weal
 A towmond's Tooth-ache!