Now Betsey-Jane was rather more than two
And just about as good as I and you;—
She’d learnt to talk, but not learnt when to stop,
Her yellow hair swung round her in a mop,
Round was her face, her eyes were opened wide
And only blinked in sleep or when she cried;
White frocks she had and blue her pinafore
With scarlet stitching at the neck, and more
Delights she had than many girls and boys,—
Father and Mother, Nurse and many toys
To comfort her, but, more than all the rest,
There is no doubt she loved her Jocko best.