But picture such a nondescript I know I never can.
It had a gray old head upon the shoulders of a child;
One eye was small and wicked, and the other large and wild.
Its hands, its feet, its teeth, its ears, I solemnly declare,
You couldn’t pick out two of them that matched to make a pair!
One foot was slim and dainty, and the other huge and flat,
And it had a woman’s wig on underneath a man’s cocked hat;
A waistcoat like George Washington’s, a blazer and a train,
That Spriggins knew had once belonged to his departed Jane!
He sank upon his bonded knees, with terror quite unmanned;