Cry-Baby Belle
Cry-baby Belle
Is always in tears
Nothing you can give her can ease her!
Sugar and spice,
And everything nice,
Kisses and cakes will not please her.
She'll cry if she happens
To get a slight fall,
She'll cry if the naughty boys tease her;
She'll cry for a spoon,
And she'll cry for the moon;
So there's no use in trying to please her.
If the food set before her
Don't happen to suit—
Oh, then just as loud as she's able,
This cry-baby Belle
Will set up a yell,
And scare all the folks at the table.
If she wants to go out
In the street she will cry;
If she wants to come in how she screeches!
For nothing at all
She will set up and bawl,
Unmindful of comforting speeches,
She screams in the morning
Because she's not dress'd;
And at night when they want to undress her
More loudly she'll roar,
And roll over the floor
As if she had pains to distress her.
She cries when she's sick,
And she cries when she's well,
And often cries when she's sleeping,
So that heavy and red,
And most out of her head
Are her eyes, on account of such weeping.
She always is fretful,
Unhappy, and cross,
No matter what she may be doing,
And cry-baby Belle
Pleases nobody well
Because of her constant boo-hooing.
For a Naughty Little Girl
My sweet little girl should be careful and mild,
And should not be fretful, and cry!
Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child,
God sees you, who lives in the sky.
That dear little face, which I like so to kiss,
How frightful and sad it appears!
Do you think I can love you, so naughty as this,
Or kiss you so wetted with tears?
Remember, tho' God is in heaven, my love,
He sees you within and without,
And he always looks down from His glory above,
To notice what you are about.
If I am not with you, or if it be dark,
And nobody is in the way,
His eye is as able your doings to mark,
In the night as it is in the day.
Then dry up your tears, and look smiling again
And never do things that are wrong;
For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain,
To be naughty, and crying so long.
Paulina Pry
Paulina Pry
Would eat nothing but pie;
Pie was her daily diet;
Apple or plum,
She must have some
Or else she wouldn't be quiet.
She would not eat
Any bread or meat,
Though plenty of these were handy,
But would pout and cry
For a piece of pie,
Or a stick of sugar-candy.
They heard her cry
In the Land of Pie,
And sent her dozens and dozens,
Both tender and tough,
Till she'd had more than enough
For her sisters, her aunts and her cousins.
Tearful Annie
Poor little Annie, you will find,
Is very gentle, good, and kind,
But soon a a fault appears.
The slightest thing will give her pain,
Her feelings she can ne'er restrain,
But gives way to her tears.
The other day when Ferdinand—
And if you search throughout the land,
No nicer boy you'll find—
Said something which he never meant
To cause the slightest discontent,
For hours she sobbed and whined.
Her father grieved, said: "This must cease
We never have a moment's peace,
She cries both day and night."
A portrait painter then he paid,
To paint his little tearful maid,
Crying with all her might.
He set to work that very day,
Directly he received his pay;
The picture soon was done.
Yes, there she was, all sobs and sighs,
Large tear-drops streaming from her eyes.
"How like!" said every one.
It was in truth a great success;
Quite perfect, neither more nor less;
Her father was so glad.
He hung the portrait in her room;
It filled her with the deepest gloom;
She felt annoyed and sad.
With every relative who came,
And saw the picture, 'twas the same,
All startled with affright.
Uncles, and aunts, and cousins too,
Found it so striking, life-like, true
That soon they took to flight.
Annie not long could this endure;
It brought about a speedy cure,
She ceased to cry and moan.
Her father ceased to scold and frown,
He had the picture taken down,
And in the garret thrown.

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Page 11—Girl Land