In an age before painkillers or painless extraction, the toothache was one of the curses of mankind. Then, the only administration likely to bring a result was the consumption of whisky.
Regrettably, once the effects of the whisky had worn off, the toothache, invariably, remained.
“My curse upon your venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines!”