TO A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN
My child, what painful vistas are before you!
What years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps—
And chicken-pox and measles, croup and mumps!
Promoted now from bassinet to crib,—
Since God first made so free with Adam's rib!
When teeth are here, you'll meet the dentist's chair;
That stoves are hot, and how to brush your hair;
By bruises, tears, and trousers you will grow,
I'll wish you luck, and moralize you so:
If you can think up seven thousand methods
Of giving cooks and parents heart disease;
By water, fire, and falling out of trees;
With sixty seconds' worth of mischief done,
And, which is more, you'll be your father's son!
What years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps—