Address Tae The Tuithache

Ma curse upon your venomed stang,
That shuits ma torturt goums alang,
An throu ma lugs gies sic a twang,
Wi gnawin vengeance,
Teirin ma nerves wi bitter pang,
Like rackin ingines!

Whan fiver burn, or agues freeze us,
Rheumatics gnaws, or colics squeeze us,
Oor neibour's seempathy can ease us,
Wi peetyin mane;
But thee - thoo hell o aw diseases -
Thay mock oor grain.

Aw doun ma beard the slavers trickles,
A thraw the wee stuils ower the muckle,
While roond the fire the giglets keckles,
Tae see me lowp,
An ravin mad, I wiss a heckle
War in thair dowp!

In aw the numerous human dules,
Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stuils,
Or wirthy freends raked in the mouls, -
Sad sicht tae see!
The tricks o knaves, or fash o fuils,
Thoo beirs the gree!

Whaur e'er that place be priests caws hell,
Whaur aw the tones o meesery yells,
An ranket plagues thair nummers tells,
In dreidfu raw,
Thoo, TUITHACHE, shuirly beirs the bell,
Amang thaim aw!

Thoo grim, mischief-makkin chiel,
That gars the notes o discord squeel,
Till daft mankynd aft dance a reel
In gore, a shae-thick,
Gie's aw the faes o SCOTLAND'S weel
A towmond's tuithache!

~Lizzy~