I
An old white Jocko, kindly and urbane,
Lived with a little girl called Betsey-Jane,
He was her oldest friend, thin was his hair,
One arm he lacked, but Jocko did not care,
No more did Betsey-Jane;—his eyes were gone,
His figure flat, but all his teeth were on,
Stitched to his mouth, a row of beady pearls
More white than those of many little girls.
All day to please he did his docile best
And only squeaked when Betsey punched his chest;
When bed-time came and Nurse tucked Betsey in,
Warm in her cot he slept beneath her chin.