If yer gotter corf about yer,

And they rise with a cry of ‘Australia’s dead!’With the wheeze of ‘Australia’s done!’Oh, the theme is stale, but they tell the tale(How the weak old tale will keep!)Like the crows that croak on a splintered rail,That have gorged on a rotten sheep.I would sing a song in your darkest hourIn your darkest hour and…

He lived because he had been born—the hero of my song—And fought the battle with his fist whene’er he fought a wrong.Yet there are many men who would do anything for him—A simple chap as went by name of ‘Tambaroora Jim.’He used to keep a shanty in the ‘Come-and-find-it Scrub,’And there were few but knew…

With the blank face of an image and the nod of keep-it-darkAnd a wink of mighty meaning at their confidential clerk.(When, Oh! tell me when shall poets cease to be misunderstood?When, Oh! When? shall people reckon rhymers can be any good?Do their work and pay their debts and drink their pint of beer, and then,Look…

Her limbs in weariness relaxed,And in her eyes a sad desire.But soon a wreath is on her brow;A bonny prince has claimed her hand;And she’s as proud and happy nowAs any lady in the land.Ah, then to see a fairy bright,And to have granted what you would,You only needed to do right,You only needed to…

But I think I was mistaken, and there are many times I findWhen you do not care a candle if your pants are gone behind;For a fellow mostly loses all ambition, hope, and pride,When—to put the matter mildly—he is bad in his inside.Bobby Burns was down on toothache, and it troubled him no doubt;But you…

He never was unkind to me,Although he “had his failings:”And now his grave is old and green,And now at times I’m ratherInclined to think ’twas very meanThe way I treated father.The mother had for years been dead,And Dad and I and StumpyWere living in a little shed—What bushmen call a humpy;And now I think when…