Washing

My baby must be clean and neat, With cap and pinafore complete; I'll daily sponge its little head, And wash its skin, so soft and red. My seat must not be over high, Lest babe roll off my lap, and cry: Upon my knee, I'll safely hold, And do it quick for fear of cold. Hush, hush, my dear! I'll not be long; Washing will make thee stout and strong: Thy little nerves 'twill help to brace, 'Twill make thee have a rosy face. Some helpless babes scarce ever get A wholesome washing, like my pet; Then weak, and weaker still, they grow, No sprightliness or pleasure show; Whereas, by constant daily care, With skin so fresh, and clean brush'd hair, They might have stouter grown, and stronger, And liv'd in cheerful health much longer.