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.