About the Little Girl that Beat Her Sister

Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss

Your little sister dear;

I must not have such things as this,

And noisy quarrels here.

What! little children scratch and fight,

That ought to be so mild;

Oh! Mary, it's a shocking sight

To see an angry child.

I can't imagine, for my part,

The reason for your folly;

She did not do you any hurt

By playing with your dolly.

See, see, the little tears that run

Fast from her watery eye:

Come, my sweet innocent, have done,

'Twill do no good to cry.

Go, Mary, wipe her tears away,

And make it up with kisses:

And never turn a pretty play

To such a pet as this is.