“Joy to Philip, he this day Has his long coats cast away And (the childish season gone) Puts 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?”