Whiffin, with all thy faults, I love thee still, Thee and thine ancient office and the sweet Metallic peal that quelled the popular heat When party strife ran high in Eatanswill; Who now with quavering eloquence would’st fill, And tidings of a pilfered purse, the street Maddened with motors and the armoured fleet Of base mechanical engines out to kill. Go, thou sole arbiter of Buff and Blue, Time hath prevailed against thee, yield the floor, Toll, on bare sufferance, from door to door, The hooters hold the highway;—as for you, You voice the missing ha’pence of the poor, And they the incomes of the well-to-do.
THE TALE OF JOCKO
A STORY FOR A CHILD
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.
II
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.
III
Yet Jocko’s life was not a life of ease,— We think to do entirely as we please, Age teaches otherwise. One evil day A cat approached the cushion where he lay And tore away his inoffensive hair And left him with his leathern skin laid bare, Silent upon the rug. His Betsey-Jane Found him with tears and kissed him well again; But she herself, forgetful of her grief, Laughed when they dressed him in a handkerchief Just like a doll, but Jocko did not mind, He still forgave her for his heart was kind.