Now little girls should never climb,
And Sophy won’t another time,
For when upon the highest rail
Her frock was caught upon a nail,
She lost her hold, and, sad to tell,
Was hurt and bruis’d—for down she fell.
PRETTY PUSS.
Come, pretty Cat!
Come here to me!
I want to pat
You on my knee.
Go, naughty Tray!
By barking thus,
You’ll drive away,
My pretty Puss.