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52

Lets it go as last, and thenHas it in her power again:Now she works with three or four,Like an Indian Conjuror;Quick as he in feats of art,Far beyond in joy of heart.Were her antics play'd in the eyeOf a thousand Standers-by,Clapping hands with shout and stare,What would little Tabby carel'or the plaudits of the Crowd?Over happy to be proud,Over wealthy in the treasureOf her own exceeding pleasure!
'Tis a pretty Baby-treat;Nor, I deem, for me unmeet:Here, for neither Babe or me,Other Play-mate can I see.
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