Sister: Through the house what busy joy, Just because the infant boy Has a tiny tooth to show! I have got a double row, All as white and all as small; Yet no one cares for mine at all. He can say but half a word, Yet that single sound’s preferred To all the words that I can say In the longest summer day. He cannot walk, yet if he put With mimic motion out his foot, As if he thought he were advancing, It’s prized more than my best dancing.
Brother: Sister, I know jesting you are, Yet O! of jealousy beware. If the smallest seed should be In your mind of jealousy, It will spring, and it will shoot, Till it bear the baneful fruit. I remember you, my dear, Young as is this infant here. There was not a tooth of those Your pretty, even ivory rows, But as anxiously was watch’d Till it burst its shell new hatch’d, As if it a Phoenix were, Or some other wonder rare. So when you began to walk— So when you began to talk— As now, the same encomiums pass’d. ‘Tis not fitting this should last Longer than our infant days, A child is fed with milk and praise.
