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My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang."

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Our neebors sympathize to ease us

Wi’ pitying moan;
But thee! - thou hell o' a' diseases,

They mock our groan!

Of a' the num'rous 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!

Whare'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whare a' the tones o' misery yeli,
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 squeel,
'Till humankind aft dance a reel

In gore a shoe-thick; -
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
A towmond's toothache!

Robert Burns


What makes you come here fer, Mister,

So much to our house? — Say?
Come to see our big sister!
An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her

An' he ketched you, thuther day!-
Didn'you, Charley? — But we p'omised Belle
And crossed our heart to never to tell
'Cause she gived us some o' them-er
Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her!

Charley he's my little b’uther

An' we has a-mostest fun,

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