Bed-Time

See how my Harry hangs his head, And rubs his little peepy; 'Tis time to trot up stairs to bed When babies are so sleepy.

Then let us put his playthings by, Jane's rattle, and her dolly; We must not leave all things awry, To make more work for Molly.

Come trip up stairs with nimble feet, —A kiss for dear Mamma; Hark, hark, she says "farewell my sweet," And Harry says, "ta, ta."

(He does not say—"Mamma, do let Me stop a little longer?" Indulgence soon would spoil her pet, And make his will grow stronger.)

Now, we must all the windows shut, And let the curtains down; Now, on the little cap we'll put, And now the sleeping gown.

My Harry must lie still, and keep The bed-clothes nice and even; "Ta, ta,"—he'll soon be fast asleep, For, hark! the clock strikes seven.