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.

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