If the water is cold, and the comb hurts your head,
And the soap has got into your eye,
Will the water grow warmer for all that you’ve said?
And what good will it do you to cry?
It is not to tease you, and hurt you, my sweet,
But only for kindness and care,
That I wash you and dress you, and make you look neat,
And comb out your tanglesome hair.
I don’t mind the trouble, if you would not cry,
But pay me for all with a kiss;
That’s right, take the towel and wipe your wet eye;
I thought you’d be good after this.
THE INDUSTRIOUS BOY.
In a cottage upon the heath wild,
That always was cleanly and nice,
Liv’d William, a good little child,
Who minded his parents’ advice.
’Tis true he lov’d marbles and kite,
And spin-top, and nine-pins, and ball;
But this I declare with delight,
His book he loved better than all.