Tumble up.
Reading edition
Tumble down, tumble up, never mind it, my sweet,
No, no, never beat the poor floor:
’Twas your fault, that could not stand straight on your feet,
Beat yourself, if you beat any more.
Oh dear! what a noise: will a noise make it well?
Will crying wash bruises away?
Suppose that it should bleed a little and swell,
’Twill all be gone down in a day.
That’s right, be a man, love, and dry up your tears,
Come, smile, and I’ll give you a kiss:
If you live in the world but a very few years,
You must bear greater troubles than this.
Ah! there’s the last tear dropping down from your cheek!
All the dimples are coming again!
And your round little face looks as ruddy and meek,
As a rose that’s been wash’d in the rain.