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!