TO BETSEY-JANE,
ON HER DESIRING TO GO
INCONTINENTLY TO HEAVEN
My Betsey-Jane it would not do,
For what would Heaven make of you,
A little honey-loving bear,
Among the Blessèd Babies there?
Nor do you dwell with us in vain
Who tumble and get up again
And try, with bruisèd knees, to smile—
Sweet, you are blessèd all the while