Classic Poem

“My master,” said the Gipsy man,
 “Is your prettygraph in your book?
You ought to have seen it when mine was drawn,
 So that not a thing was mistook.

“The fellow who took my landscape perfessed
 He'd make it the best in town;
‘Wery well,’ says I, ‘if you don't, I'm blessed
 If I gives you a single brown!’

“Now, I says to myself, ‘On my leather tights
 A dozen of buttons is sewn:
A dozen he ought to give by rights,
 Hexceptin' the one as is gone.’

“But when that landskip was done so fair,
 I tell you, it took me down;
For every one o' them buttons was there,
 Hexceptin' the one as was gone.

“So I 'olds that chap is a hono rable chap,
 As hever on earth I see;
An when any one wants a prettygraph done,
 I sends 'em along to he.”