Tearing my nerves wi’ bitter pang,
Like racking engines.
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes;
Our neighbor’s sympathy may ease us,
Wi’ pitying moan;
But thee,—thou hell o’ a’ diseases,
Aye mocks our groan.
Adown my beard the slavers trickle;
I throw the wee stools o’er the mickle,