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ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACH,

My curse upon thy 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 neighbour's sympathy may ease us,

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

Ay mocks 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 numérous 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 ranked plagues their numbers tell,

In dreadfu' raw, Thou, Tooth-ach, surely bear'st the bell

Amang them a'!

O thou grim mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes of discord squeel,
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel

In gore a shoe-thick ;-Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal

A towmond's Tooth-ach!

SONG.

Tune, Morag.'

O wha is she that lo’es me,

And has my heart a keeping ?
O sweet is she that lo'es me,

As dews oʻsimmer weeping,
In tears the rose-buds steeping.

CHORUS

O that's the lassie o' my heart,

My lassie ever dearer ;
O that's the queen of woman kind,

And ne'er a ane to peer her.

If thou shalt meet a lassie,

In grace and beauty charming,
That e'en thy chosen lassie,

Ere while thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming.

O that's, &c.

If thou hadst heard her talking,

And thy attentions plighted,
That ilka body talking,

But her by thee is slighted;
And thou art all delighted.

O that's, &c.

If thou hast met this fair one ;

When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one,

But her thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted.

that's, &c.

SONG,

Jocker's ta'cn the parting kiss,

O'er the mountains he is ganc; And with him is a' my bliss,

Nought but griefs with me remain.

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw,

Plashy sleets and beating rain! Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw,

Drifting o'er the frozen plain!

When the shades of evening creep

O'er the day's fair gladsome e'e, Sound and safely may he sleep,

Sweetly blithe his waukening be!

He will think on her he loves,

Fondly he'll repeat her name; For where'er he distant roves,

Jockey's heart is still at hame.

SONG.

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm ;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's bue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway,
Who but knows they all decay !
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarms,
These are all immortal charms.

WRITTEN

in a Wrapper enclosing a Letter to Capt, Grose, 10

be left with Mr. Cardonnel, Antiquarian.

Tune,' Sir John Malcolm.'

KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose ?

Igo, & ago,
If he's amang his friends or foes,

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he South, or is he North ?

Igo, & ago,
Or drowned in the river Forth?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highland bodies ?

Igo, & ago,
And eaten like a weather-haggis?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abram's bosom gane ?

Igo, & ago,
Or haudin Sarah by the wame?

Iram, coram, dago.

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!

Igo, & ago,
As for the deil, he daur na steer him.

Iram, coram, dago.
H

VOL. XXXIX.

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