And bless their pigtails, tho' they're now cut off; And oh, in Downing Street should Old Nick revel, England's prime minister, then bless the Devil! THE BABY'S DEBUT. BY W. W. Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait, All thy false mimic fooleries I hate, For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she Who is right foolish hath the better plea; Nature's true Idiot I prefer to thee.--CUMBERLAND. [_Spoken in the character of_ NANCY LAKE, _a girl eight years of age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise, by_ SAMUEL HUGHES, _her uncle's porter_.] My brother Jack was nine in May, And I was eight on New-year's-day; So in Kate Wilson's shop Papa (he's my papa and Jack's) Bought me, last week, a doll of wax, And brother Jack a top. Jack's in the pouts, and this it is, He thinks mine came to more than his, So to my drawer he goes, Takes out the doll, and, oh, my stars! He pokes her head between the bars, And melts off half her nose! Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, And tie it to his peg-top's peg, And bang, with might and main, Its head against the parlour door: Off flies the head, and hits the floor, And breaks a window-pane. This made him cry with rage and spite: Well, let him cry, it serves him right. A pretty thing, forsooth! If he's to melt, all scalding hot, Half my doll's nose, and I am not To draw his peg-top's tooth! Aunt Hannah heard the window break, And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake, Thus to distress your aunt: No Drury Lane for you to-day!" And while papa said, "Pooh, she may!" Mamma said, "No, she shan't!" Well, after many a sad reproach, They got into a hackney coach, And trotted down the street. I saw them go: one horse was blind, The tails of both hung down behind, Their shoes were on their feet. The chaise in which poor brother Bill Used to be drawn to Pentonville, Stood in the lumber-room: I wiped the dust from off the top, While Molly mopp'd it with a mop, And brush'd it with a broom. My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, Came in at six to black the shoes (I always talk to Sam): So what does he, but takes, and drags Me in the chaise along the flags, And leaves me where I am. My father's walls are made of brick, But not so tall, and not so thick, As these; and, goodness me! My father's beams are made of wood, But never, never half so good, As these that now I see. What a large floor! 'tis like a town! The carpet, when they lay it down, Won't hide it, I'll be bound. And there's a row of lamps! my eye! How they do blaze! I wonder why They keep them on the ground.