Classic Poem

THREE MONTHS OLD, ON THE DAY OF HER BAPTISM .

Couplets a ma filleule.

Why, where the deuce, god-daughter, got you
The poor god-pa, whom they allot you?
From this alone your screams arise;
But freely I forgive your cries
Besides, you'll blame me, I suppose,
That this poor feast no bonbons shows:
But, child, don't weep; don't weep I pray;
God-pa will make you laugh, some day.

From Friendship I this honor claim;
'Tis Friendship gives you now your name:
And great lord though I may not be,
You'll find an honest man in me
For presents if you crave indeed,
I may be lacking at your need:
But, child, don't weep; don't weep, I pray;
God-pa will make you laugh, some day.

Yes, spite of Fate, who in strict rule
Virtue herself is wont to school,
May we, your god-mamma and I,
Good omens for your life supply!
For while they're journeying here below,
Good hearts no enemies should know
But, child, don't weep; don't weep, I pray;
God-pa will make you laugh, some day.

How at your wedding will I sing,
If still my songs can pleasure bring!
But then, perchance, I'll be thrown by,
Where, mute, Panard and Colle lie.
What! miss the bursts of heartfelt mirth
To which such day must needs give birth?
No, child, don't weep; don't weep, I pray;
God-pa will make you laugh, some day.