THE TRAVYLIN PORTRAIT TYEKER!
A POME.

Aw thowt aw cud paint a pictor,
Aw did, upon me word,
So aw bowt a penny box 0' paints,
Just what aw cud afford,
An' then aw wundor'd what aw'd try,
A man, a beast, or bird.

Aw mind aw luckt i' mony a shop,
Transparent slates aw saw,
An' wish'd that aw cud buy a one,
For then aw'd lairn te draw;
But money often myeks a man,
An' that ov korse ye'll knaw.

So aw had te myek me-sel content
Wi' nowt but what aw had;
Aw struggled hard an' did me best,
Like mony a poor lad,
An' wor foaks had the narve te say
It wassent te call bad.

Aw thowt aw wad tyek a portrait,
So aw got me bruther Ned
Te sit before us mony a neet
When we shud been i' bed,
Aw thowt them wes the happiest oors
Two young uns ivor led.

Aw myed his nose a' kinds 0' shapes,
His eyes aw myed them squint,
His cheek, throo maw artistic skill,
Had monya dimple in't,
An' wiv a bright rose-pink aw goh
Them such a bonny tint.

But not a sowl alive cud see
A bit 0' likeness there,
Tho sum te please us myed us think
'Twas really varry fair,
For they wad say 'twas just like Ned,
Se reed aboot the hair!

But still aw thowt aw'd deun se weel,
Aw'd heva try agyen,
For if a gud job's once begun,
Te let it once alyen,
Wad ruin the best 0' clivor skemes,
An' best 0' clivor men.

So on went aw,-an' on went Time,
Wi' nowt else i' me heed,
But tyekin foaks's likenesses,
Till aw stud hard i' need
0' what aw cuddent de without,
That's Life's supporter, Breed!

Iv a booth at fair or hoppin,
Wi' black paper aw wad myek
Sum figgor for the silly feuls,
Se daft such like te tyek,
But feuIs mun often help us, lads,
Or where's war daily kyeck?

At last a fottygraff masheen,
Like Ieetnin i' the skies,
Com dazzlin one day te me seet,
An' fill'd us wi' surprise;
Be luck aw got one oat on tick:
The man that ticks is wise!

But Fortun always wi' the brave
'Ill not a comrade be,
Aw cuddent tyek a pictor wid,
One ivor fit te see;
Aw laid me heed upon me hand,
An' wish'd that aw cud dee.

At last a thowt flew throo me brain,
An' myed us once mair stir,
Ideas hoo te lairn the trade
Had not struck me before,
Aw'd try an' get a job te stand
At sum fottygraffer's door!

Aw did; an' noo ye'll see me nyem's
Upon a decent van,
At races, ony place where sport
Brings money is me plan;
It's puff, an' cheek, an' impittence
Myeks mony a bissniss man.

Frae sixpence up te ite-teen-pence,
Aw'll tyek ye weel on glass,
An' cairds, six bob a duzzin,
That nebody can surpass,
Aw'lI myek gud-luckin ony fyece,
Man, wummin, lad, or lass!


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890