II
Now Betsey-Jane was rather more than twoAnd 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 wideAnd only blinked in sleep or when she cried;White frocks she had and blue her pinaforeWith scarlet stitching at the neck, and moreDelights she had than many girls and boys,—Father and Mother, Nurse and many toysTo comfort her, but, more than all the rest,There is no doubt she loved her Jocko best.
Now Betsey-Jane was rather more than twoAnd 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 wideAnd only blinked in sleep or when she cried;White frocks she had and blue her pinaforeWith scarlet stitching at the neck, and moreDelights she had than many girls and boys,—Father and Mother, Nurse and many toysTo comfort her, but, more than all the rest,There is no doubt she loved her Jocko best.
Now Betsey-Jane was rather more than twoAnd 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 wideAnd only blinked in sleep or when she cried;White frocks she had and blue her pinaforeWith scarlet stitching at the neck, and moreDelights she had than many girls and boys,—Father and Mother, Nurse and many toysTo comfort her, but, more than all the rest,There is no doubt she loved her Jocko best.