The "tin-type" masterpiece he'll make you.
What though his camera be antique,
His dark-room just a nose-bag humble,
What if his tripod legs are weak,
And threaten constantly to tumble.
No swain nor maiden can withstand
His invitation arch, insidious,
To pose al fresco on the strand—
His clientèle are not fastidious.
"You are so lovely", says the wretch,