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.