We Will Outwit Your Nits

Lice Treatment Removal Information in Boston Area

Happy Robbie Burns Night 2019. Lice and Love

25 January

Happy Robbie Burns Night 2019. The famous Scottish poet Robert Burns ponders a head louse in the hair of an attractive well-to-do young woman in church. This remind us that head lice have been with us for centuries. In fact some people call nitpicking the second oldest profession!

Furthermore Burns elaborates on how he wishes he had a toxic powder of some kind to kill the louse. In addition Burns expresses shock that a woman of means could be afflicted with lice.

Happy Robbie Burns Night 2019. Boston is celebrating the birth of Robert Burns in several ways. First of all The Haven in JP is celebrating Robbie Burns Night with 4 Burns Suppers. And over at The Burren in Davis Square you can take part in The Greater Boston Community Burns Supper  on Jan 29, brought to you by Boston Song Sessions In addition the folks at WGBH Curiosity Desk wonder “Why is there a Robert Burns Statue in Winthrop Square?

Happy Robbie Burns Night 2019

Robert Burns

Happy Robbie Burns Night 2019! Today is the Birthday of famous Scottish Poet Robert Burns whose 1786 poem To a Louse” remains burned into our memories! Especially relevant is the text of the poem that details Burns observing a head louse crawling on the hair of a lady in church. In fact Burns indicates his disgust for the louse, wishing it away.


On a Lady’s Hair in Church

 Ha! Where are you going, you crawling wonder?

Your impudence protects you sorely,

I can not say but you swagger rarely

Over gauze and lace,

Though faith! I fear you dine but sparingly

On such a place

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,

Detested, shunned by saint and sinner,

How dare you set your foot upon her -

Such fine a lady! 
Go somewhere else and seek your dinner

On some poor body

Off! In some beggar’s temples squat:

There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,

With other kindred, jumping cattle,

In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle

Your thick plantations.

Now hold you there! You are out of sight,

Below the falderals, snug and tight;

No, faith you yet! You will not be right,

Until you have got on it —

The very topmost, towering height

Of misses bonnet.

My sooth! right bold you set your nose out,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry:

O for some rank, mercurial resin,

Or deadly, red powder,

I would give you such a hearty dose of it,

Would dress your breech!

I would not have been surprised to spy

You on an old wife’s flannel cap:
Or maybe some small ragged boy,

On his undervest;

But Miss’s fine balloon bonnet! fye!

How dare you do it.

O Jenny do not toss your head,

And set your beauties all abroad!

You little know what cursed speed

The blastie’s making!

Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,

Are notice taking!

O would some Power the gift to give us

To see ourselves as others see us!

It would from many a blunder free us,

And foolish notion:
What airs in dress and gait would leave us,

And even devotion!

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