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Little Girls Must Not Fret

 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 Mamma cannot love little girls that are so.
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.

by Jane Taylor
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