This page has been validated.
THE STUBBORN DAME.
There was a little stubborn dame
Whom no authority could tame,
Restive by long indulgence grown,
No will she minded but her own:
At trifles oft she'd scold and fret,
Then in a corner take a seat,
And sourly moping all the day,
Disdain alike to work or play.
Papa all softer arts had try'd,
And sharper remedies apply'd;
But both were vain, for every coures
He took still made her worse and worse.
'Tis strange to think how female wit
So oft should make a lucky hit
When man with all his high pretence
To deeper judgment, sounder sense
