Brother

Sister, I know, you jesting are, Yet O! of jealousy beware. If the smallest seed should be In your mind of jealousy, It will spring, and it will shoot, Till it bear the baneful fruit. I remember you, my dear, Young as is this infant here. There was not a tooth of those Your pretty even ivory rows, But as anxiously was watched, Till it burst its shell new hatched, As if it a Phoenix were, Or some other wonder rare. So when you began to walk-- So when you began to talk-- As now, the same encomiums past. 'Tis not fitting this should last Longer than our infant days; A child is fed with milk and praise.