To Rosina, on Her Tenth Birthday

While you are chirping as the lark
We heard above in Prior-park,
Perhaps below it your old bard
May be asleep in that churchyard,
Our races to the bridge all past
And dust upon his dust be cast ;
Not such as once your nimbler feet
Threw back on his.

Soon friends will meet
Your beauty and your growth to praise.
And wish you many natal days.
To make her happier some may dare
To tell mama how like you are ;
And some will press to kiss her brow,
As in fond fancy I do now.