The poetical works of John Trumbull . | ||
61
Come hither; give your aunt a kiss.
What, blushing? fye, hold up your head,
Full six years old and yet afraid!
With such a form, an air, a grace,
You're not ashamed to show your face!
Look like a lady—bold—my child!
Why ma'am, your Harriet will be spoil'd.
What pity 'tis, a girl so sprightly
Should hang her head so unpolitely?
And sure there's nothing worth a rush in
That odd, unnatural trick of blushing;
It marks one ungenteelly bred,
And shows there's mischief in her head.
62
Eve never blush'd before the fall.
'Tis said indeed, in latter days,
It gain'd our grandmothers some praise;
Perhaps it suited well enough
With hoop and farthingale and ruff;
But this politer generation
Holds ruffs and blushes out of fashion.
The poetical works of John Trumbull . | ||