601. Our Town Awakes Six o'clock. From the railway yard
The engine toots; careering hard,
A milk-cart rattles by and stops;
602. An Epitaph I've lived a rather careless life,
And many a fault have I;
But I'd have you not stress the strife
603. Dust (I'm not trying to make this thing rhyme
But, at the same time,
A little interlude like this
604. Lullaby You are much too big to dandle,
And I will not leave the candle.
Go to sleep.
605. Whose Blame? 'A woman's work is never done,'
'From dawn to setting of the sun,'
606. The Old Shanty Look at 'em! Toffs with their big cigars,
Drivin' along in their motor cars.
Nothin' at all like the olden days
607. The Bar-Room Patriot Why, 'ow's she goin', Bill, ole sport?
I thort I knoo your dile!
My oath! You look the proper sort!
608. In The First Elective Ministry In the neolithic age of our Australia, long ago,
There dwelt a wise old chieftain, as you probably don't know;
His royal tastes and habits I won't venture to describe,
609. Golden Silence A word out of season
Of vapid unreason
May seem mere political twaddle at best;
610. Morning Glory Singing morning has begun.
Where the wooded ranges run
To far summits, there the snow
611. Confidential Canberra Nay, Mr Speaker, let the ideal stay,
The picture that voters have in mind
Of Solons in debate far leagues away
612. The Madman 'I should go mad,' he said, 'in such a place!
The lack of company, the loneliness!
Nothing but trees to stare you in the face;
613. The Wooer I nearly fell fair in my tracks.
I'm trudgin' homeward with my axe
When I come on her suddenly.
614. Good Friday So we forget? The streets bloom gay
With festive garments, many hued;
And man and maid laugh down the way
615. The Porter I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
Calling out, 'Stand aside!' and asking leave of none.
Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
616. Legs And The Man Alas, my dear, be you high-born,
Or just a Sydney cutie,
I fear you've earned a he-man's scorn
617. The Bush Veteran Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up the road,
'Dangin'' things and 'darn in'' things and hefting of his load
For yesterday was pension day, Peter has his goods:
619. Introduction: Rose Of Spadgers I've crawled; I've eaten dirt; I've lied a treat;
I've dodged the cops an' led a double life;
I've readied up wild tales to tell me wife,
620. As Old George Said Said old George Jones: 'All in a hundred years.
'Tis little time enough, and well may make
This youthful country proud among its peers
621. The Call Of Stoush Wot price ole Ginger Mick? 'E's done a break -
Gone to the flamin' war to stoush the foe.
Wus it fer glory, or a woman's sake?
622. The Swanks Of Gosh Come mourn with me for the land of Gosh,
Oh, weep with me for the luckless Glugs
Of the land of Gosh, where the sad seas wash
623. Playtime Brothers!
(I address myself to that chosen few - which includes you,
My dear reader - who
624. Cherchez La Femme The Chinese are an old, old race,
In mystic lore exceeding wise.
Accustomed thro' the year to trace
625. Bird Song - Crow Crow
I detest the Carrion Crow!
(He's a raven, don't you know?)
626. Goophic Phantasm Tho' I own I have no adequate proofs
Of this queer tale of the quaint old Goophs
The Goophs who dwelt in the land of Guph
627. Bright Where Feathertop frowns thro' the winter scud,
Where Buffalo broods on high,
Dwells she, a lass of royal blood,
628. We Mean To Say We mean to say, it never has been granted
That anyone but England could decide,
In the crease or at the wicket,
629. Mid-Winter Monody There's a bleak, black world without,
And the rain falls fast;
And the wind, with a whine and a shout,
630. My Scenario Oh, I've got a lovely story that I've thought out all myself.
It will make a gorgeous picture, I am sure.
(Mind, it isn't for the money, for I am not keen on pelf,
631. The Spotted Heifers Mr Jeremiah Jeffers
Owned a pair of spotted heifers
These he sold for two pounds ten
632. Ballad Of Lieges Son of our King: When yoemen sailed
From Britain to expand her sway,
The coward from High venture quailed,
633. An Old Master We were cartin' lathes and palin's from the slopes of Mount St. Leonard,
With our axles near the road-bed and the mud as stiff as glue;
And our bullocks weren't precisely what you'd call conditioned nicely,