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SONGS FOE THE NURSERY.
0 mother, dear mother, no wonder I cry! More wonder by far that your baby don't die; No matter what ails me, no matter who's here, No matter how hungry the "poor little dear," No matter if full or all out of breath,
She trots me, and trots me, and trots me to death!
1 love my dear nurse, but I dread that great knee; I like all her talk, but, woe unto me!
She can't be contented with talking so pretty, And washing, and dressing, and doing her duty; And that's very well: I can bear soap-and-water; But, mother, she is an unmerciful trotter!
Pretty ladies, I do want to look at your faces; Pretty cap! pretty fire! let me see how it blazes; How can I, my head going bibity-bob ? And she trots me the harder, the harder I sob.
0 mother, do stop her, I'm inwardly sore!
I hiccough, and cry, and she trots me the more, And talks about wind, when 'tis she makes me ache ; Wish 'twould blow her away for poor baby's sake!
Thank goodness, I'm still! O blessed, be quiet! I'm glad my dear mother is willing to try it. Of foolish old customs my mother's no lover, And the wisdom of this she can never discover. I'll rest me awhile, and just look about, And laugh up at Sally, who peeps in and out; And pick up some notions as soon as I can, To fill my small noddle before I'm a man.
Oh dear! is that she ? Is she coming so soon ? She's bringing my dinner with tea-cup and spoon; She'll hold me with one hand, in t'other the cup, And as fast as it's down she'll just shake it up; And, thumpity-thump! with the greatest delight Her heel it is going from morning to night. All over the house you may hear it, I'm sure,
My mamma is as full of kisses� As full as nurse is of pins.
A kiss when I play with my rattle, A kiss when I pull her hair;
She covered me over with kisses The day that I fell down-stair.
A kiss when I give her trouble, A kiss when I give her joy:
There's nothing like mamma's kisses To her own little baby-boy.
SLEEP, BABY BOY.
Sleep, baby boy!
The little birds rest, Downy and soft,
In the mother-bird's nest; The lambkins are safe
In the shepherd's warm fold; The dew-drops asleep
In the buttercup's gold.
The violet nods
To the daisy's dream; The lily lies hushed
On the lap of the stream; And holy and calm,
Like motherly eyes, The stars look down
From the silent skies.
Sleep, baby boy!
My birdliug, my flower, My lily, my lambkin,
My dew-drop, my dower! While heart against heart
Beats softly in time To the murmuring flow
Of my tender old rhyme.
Just think what I'm doomed to
A kiss when I wake in the morning,
A kiss when I go to bed, A kiss when I burn my fingers,
A kiss when I bump my head.
A kiss when my bath is over, A kiss when my bath begins;
TOM AND THE BARBER.
A more untidy boy than Tom
Was surely never seen ; His hair was seldom combed, his hands
And face were seldom clean.
His school-mates oftentimes would try, But all in vain, to shame