Four little birds beside them.
Coy maid, this moral in your ear I drop:
When lover’s hopes within their hearts you prison,
Fly out of sight and hearing; do not stop
To look behind and listen.—Soule.
MISS LAUGH AND MISS FRET.
Cries little Miss Fret,
In a very great pet:
“I hate this warm weather; it’s horrid to tan.