He said, The China on the shelf
Is very fair to view,
And wherefore should mine outer self,
Not correspond thereto?
In blue
My frame I must tattoo.
Where may tattooing men abound,
And ah, where might they be?
Nay, well I wot they are not found
In lands of Christentie,
( Quoth he )
But I must cross the sea!
So forth he sailed to Borneo,
( A land that culture lacks,)
And there his money did bestow
To purchase pricks and hacks,
( Dyacks
Are famed tattooing blacks. )
But European commerce had
Debased the savage kind,
And they this most unhappy lad
Before ( and eke behind )
Designed
In colours to their mind!
Such awful colours as are blent
On terrible placards
Where flames the fierce advertisement
Yea, or on Christmas cards
( Not Ward's,
But common Christmas cards! )
Thus never more to Chelsea might
The luckless boy return,
He knew himself too dreadful, quite,
A thing his friends would spurn,
And turn
To praise some Grecian urn!
But still he dwells in Borneo,
A land that culture lacks,
And there they all admire him so,
They bring him heads in sacks,
Dyacks
Are NOT aesthetic blacks!