Come all young girls, both far and near and listen unto me
While unto you I do unfold what proved my destiny
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Poor Tom Brown from Nottingham, Jack Williams and poor Joe
They were three gallant poacher boys their country well does know
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A life that is free as the bandit's of old,
When Rome was the prey of the warriers bold
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One Sunday morning, as I went walking,
By Brisbane waters I chanced to stray.
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Now I'm getting broken mouthed,
My shearing's at an end,
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D'ye ken our Jack with his note so gay,
D'ye ken our Jack at the break of day,
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Come all Australia's sons to me --
A hero has been slain
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Now some shearing I have done, and some prizes I have won,
Through my knuckling down so close on the skin,
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When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
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Lonely and sadly one night in November
I laid down my weary head in search of repose
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Let Romanists all at Confessional kneel,
Let the Jew with disgust turn from it,
24 lines, 1 comment
You often have been told of regiments brave and bold,
But we are the bravest in the land;
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I'm a broken-down old squatter, my cash it is all gone,
Of troubles and bad seasons I complain;
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Hurrah for the Roma railway! Hurrah for Cobb and Co.,
And oh! for a good fat horse or two to carry me Westward Ho --
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He wore an old blue shirt the night that first we met,
An old and tattered cabbage-tree concealed his locks of jet;
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The sun peers o'er yon wooded ridge and thro' the forest dense,
Its golden edge o'er the mountain ledge looks down on the stockyard fence,
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The boss last night in the hut did say --
"We start to muster at break of day;
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Be ye stockmen or no, to my story give ear.
Alas! for poor Jack, no more shall we hear
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I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
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The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
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At River Bend, in New South Wales,
All alone among the whales,
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The night is dark and stormy, and the sky is clouded o'er;
Our horses we will mount and ride away,
25 lines, 1 comment
A bright sun and a loosened rein,
A whip whose pealing sound
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Come, all you jolly natives, and I'll relate to you
Some of my observations -- adventures, too, a few.
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My name is old Jack Palmer,
I'm a man of olden days,
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A club there is established here, whose name they say is Legion;
From Melbourne to the Billabong they're known in every region.
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The stockmen of Australia, what rowdy boys are they,
They will curse and swear a hurricane if you come in their way.
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When first I came to Sydney Cove
And up and down the streets did rove,
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Now, shut your mouths, you loafers all,
You vex me with your twaddle,
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When the merchant lies down, he can scarce go to sleep
For thinking of his merchandise upon the fatal deep;
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