Taken from Poems from Ahoghill by Agnes Kerr (Belfast?, c.1913)
I afttimes wunner hoo it comes
You'll find fouk sympathetic
Wi' ony ither disease ava,
But niver wi' the toothache.
The pain shoots a' through heid an' brain,
An' puts us nearly crazy;
An' worst o' a', there's no a yin
For us haes ony peity.
It isna tae be compared
Wi' ony pain ava;
There's chilblains, corns, but, mark my word,
The toothache's worst o' a'.
If you wou'd ask fouk for a cure,
This is juist what they'd tell you:
"Noo, bear the pain as best you can,
An' juist niver let on you."
They'd let you moan an' groan awa',
An' kick the stools a' roon you,
An' no a word o' sympathy
Or peity wou'd they show you.
It rakes alang wi' vengeance great,
Its torturing pain ne'er leaves us,
It shoots the gnawing gums alang,
This king o' a' diseases.