TUMBLE UP.

Tumble down, tumble up, never mind it, my sweet, No, no, never beat the poor ground; ’Twas your fault you could not stand straight on your feet, Fall you will, if you twirl yourself round. 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.