For a Little Girl that did not like to be Washed.
What! cry to be wash’d, and not love to be clean!
There go and be dirty, not fit to be seen,
And ’till you leave off, and I see you have smiled,
I won’t take the trouble to wash such a child.
Suppose I should leave you now just as you are,
Do you think you’d deserve a sweet kiss from papa?
Or to sit on his knee, and learn pretty great A,
With fingers that have not been washed all the day!
Ah, look at your fingers, you see it is so?
Did you ever behold such a little black row?
And for once you may look at yourself in the glass:
There’s a face to belong to a good little lass!
Come, come, now I see you’re beginning to clear,
You won’t be so foolish again then, my dear?
The Snow Ball.
Little Edward loved to go
Playing in the drifted snow,
Like some little boys I know;
Cold Edward!