Resolving there to take her aim.
To guide them to the realms of fame;
And wisely make those realms their way,
To those of everlasting day;
Each boist'rous passion she'd control,
And early humanise the soul,
The noblest notions would inspire,
As they were sitting by the fire;
Her offspring, conscious of her care,
Transported hung around her chair.
Of Scripture heroes would she tell,
Whose names they'd lisp, ere they could spell;
Then the delighted mother smiles,
And shews the story in the tiles.
At other times her themes would be,
The sages of antiquity;
Who left a glorious name behind,
By being blessings to their kind:
Again she'd take a nobler scope,
And tell of Addison and Pope.

This happy mother met one day,
A book of fables writ by Gay;
And told her children, here's treasure,
A fund of wisdom, and of pleasure.
Such decency! such elegance!
Such morals! such exalted sense!
Well has the poet found the art,
To raise the mind, and mend the heart.
Her favourite boy the author seiz'd,