TUMBLE UP.
Tumble down, tumble up, never mind it, my sweet,
No, no, never beat the poor ground;
’Twas your fault you could not stand straight on your feet,
Fall you will, if you twirl yourself round.
Oh dear! what a noise:—will a noise make it well?
Will crying wash bruises away?
Suppose that it should bleed a little, and swell,
’Twill all be gone down in a day.
That’s right; be a man, love, and dry up your tears,
Come, smile, and I’ll give you a kiss;
If you live in the world but a very few years,
You must bear greater troubles than this.