Miss Sophy, one fine sunny day, Left her work and ran away. When she reach'd the garden-gate, She found it lock'd, but would not wait, So tried to climb and scramble o'er A gate as high as any door. But 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 bruised—for down she fell. |