Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Don't rattle the papers
Nor whisper around,
Little nerves cut such capers. [{44}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Whatever is wrong,
Attend to his bowels,
Neglected too long,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
If he is too hot,
Undress him and bathe him;
But, ah! he is not.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
There is cough with unrest,
So we'll wring out hot flannels,
And cover his chest, [{45}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
He's perspiring, to pour!
We will keep up this treatment
A full hour more.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Now dry him off neat,
And wrap him up warm,
And to-morrow, repeat. [{46}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
'Tis not in his chest?
Then place the hot flannels
Where he feels the unrest.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill,
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
He is moaning with pain,
And rolling his head,
And we pet him in vain.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We will wring out from ice,
Linen cloths for his head,
All so cooling and nice. [{47}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
If cold don't relieve,
Use hot and then cold,
And then hot, you perceive.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling is ill;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll soon have him well;--
Rock-a-bye, baby,
We'll see that his feet
Are kept warm all the time,
And his clothes dry and neat. [{48}]
Rock-a-bye, baby,
Our darling was ill
Rock-a-bye, baby,
But now he is well;
Rock-a-bye, baby,
No drugs, not a dose!
Yet he's over it finely,
Just hear how he crows
THE SNOWBALL.
Have ever you seen how a wee bit of snow,
To a big bouncing ball, just by rolling, will grow?
'Tis thus our wee sins, children, let to roll on,
Will grow big, bigger, biggest, till Satan has won.