Going into Breeches

Joy to Philip! he this day

Has his long coats cast away,

And (the childish season gone)

Put the manly breeches on.

Officer on gay parade,

Red-coat in his first cockade,

Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,

Birthday beau surpassing him,

Never did with conscious gait

Strut about in half the state

Or the pride (yet free from sin)

Of my little manikin:

Never was there pride or bliss

Half so rational as his.

Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,

Philip's limbs have got their freedom—

He can run, or he can ride,

And do twenty things beside,

Which his petticoats forbade;

Is he not a happy lad?

Now he's under other banners

He must leave his former manners;

Bid adieu to female games

And forget their very names;

Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,

Sports for girls and punies weak!

Baste-the-bear he now may play at;

Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;

Show his skill and strength at cricket,

Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;

Run about in winter's snow

Till his cheeks and fingers glow;

Climb a tree or scale a wall

Without any fear to fall.

If he get a hurt or bruise,

To complain he must refuse,

Though the anguish and the smart

Go unto his little heart;

He must have his courage ready,

Keep his voice and visage steady;

Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,

That a tear may never come;

And his grief must only speak

From the colour in his cheek.

This and more he must endure,

Hero he in miniature.

This and more must now be done,

Now the breeches are put on.