To a Lady who desired me to pray Mary's Page
for the death of my youngest child
Poems of a Nottingham Lace-Runner
Fair lady, when you me advis'd,
To pray Heaven my baby to take,
I acquainted the Muse, and she could not refuse,
But send you a line for its sake.
She thought it was hard for the poor little bairn,
Who had always good humour display'd;
And not for a moment, though much put about,
The least discontent had betray'd.
The great Author who sent it below,
Will take care that `tis clothed and fed:
How hard I should think its death-blow,
For wanting a morsel of bread.
Though entirely destitute I,
Or e'en cast in a desert so wild,
Shall I dare to presumptuously cry-
0! take from my bosom my child?
No.—For the dear babe at my breast,
Each storm I'll so willingly weather:
Her innocent smile shall my troubles beguile,
And make poverty light as a feather.
17
Contents
To a Lady who visited the author when she was in great distress 14
To a Lady who desired me to pray for the death of youngest child 17
Petition to the British Fair 19
On the Death of the Revd. Dr. Wylde, late of Nottingham 21
Lines, Written in July, on Widow Hind's garden, at Hints, in Staffordshire 26
Lines On the Death of a Gentleman of Basford 31
The Author to Her Infant Twins 35
Appendix: Mary Bailey's Obituary 37
Index of titles and first lines 42
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[Work in Progess]