What is it that makes little Emily cry? Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: There—lay down your head on my bosom—that's right, And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night. What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play? Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away; But do not be fretful, my darling; you know She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there— Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare: That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before. Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more. two girls dancing in meadow
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