A Derry On A Cove

Twas in the felons dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue;
His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too;
He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap,
Its orfal when the pleece has got a derry on a chap.

I am a honest workin cove, as any bloke can see,
Its just because the pleece has got a derry, sir, on me;
Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it aint no joke,
Its cruel when the pleece has got a derry on a bloke.

Why dont you go to work? he said (he muttered, Why dont you?).
Yer honer knows as well as me there aint no work to do.
And when I try to find a job Im shaddered by a trap,
Its awful when the pleece has got a derry on a chap.

I sighd and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred,
But, ah! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months hard.
He only said, Beyond the grave youll cop it hot, by Jove!
There aint no angel pleece to get a derry on a cove.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

The Legend Of Cooee Gully

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Write By Return

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Broken Axletree

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

In The Days When The World Was Wide

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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A Little Mistake

Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum trap
On the edge of the Never-Never,
Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,
And the bushman lies for ever.
Twas the custom still with the local blacks
To cadge in the altogether
They had less respect for our feelings then,
And more respect for the weather.

The trooper said to the sergeants wife:
Sure, I wouldnt seem unpleasant;
But theres women and childer about the place,
And barrin a ladys present

Theres ould King Billy wid niver a stitch
For a month may the drought cremate him!
Bar the wan we put in his dirty head,
Where his old Queen Mary bate him.

God give her strength! and a peaceful reign
Though she flies in a bit av a passion
If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an ...

Henry Lawson

The Old Stockman's Lament

Wrap me up in me stockwhip and blanket,
And bury me deep down below,
Where this piffle and sham wont disgust me,
In the land where the coolibahs grow;
For Ive stayed with some well-to-do people,
And Ive dined with some middle-class folk;
And Ive sorrowed by clock-tower and steeple
Till my heart for the Commonwealths broke.

They have flown in another direction,
Who used to clack-clack by the hour
Of this awful Freetrade and Protection,
Of our dear darling member in power,
And the Higher Religion for Dossers,
And the Need of an Object for Drunks,
Now theyre all of them Red or Blue Crossers,
With their tails sticking out of their trunks.

There are citified Martins in dozens,
The Darling Point Martins the pick,
Who used to be horrif...

Henry Lawson

The Sleeping Beauty

Call that a yarn! said old Tom Pugh,
What rot! Ill lay my hat
Ill sling you a yarn worth more nor two
Such pumped-up yarns as that.
And thereupon old Tommy slew
A yarn of Lambing Flat.

When Lambing Flat broke out, he said,
Mongst others there I knew
A lanky, orkard, Lunnon-bred
Young chap named Johnny Drew,
And nicknamed for his love of bed,
The Sleeping Beauty too.

He sunk a duffer on the Flat,
In compny with three more,
And makin room for this and that
They was a tidy four,
Save when the eldest, Dublin Pat,
Got drunk and raved for gore.

This Jack at yarnin licked a book,
And half the night hed spout.
But when he once turned in, it took
Old Nick to get him out.
And that is how they came to co...

Henry Lawson

For He Was A Jolly Good Fellow

They cheered him from the wharf, it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf, his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was Jolly Good, they sang it long and loud,
The money lender stood unknown amongst the crowd.
Hed taken him aside, while trembling fit to fall,
No friendly eye espied the last farewell of all!

He held a peevish kid, another at his knee;
The wife whom he could bid farewell, eternally
Stood nagging at his side in tones that none could hear,
And deared him, tender eyed, when passengers came near
(The cabin waits below the row and childrens squall,
And not a soul to know the bitter farce of all).

Their hearts were good as gold, each pocket spared a tray,
They pooled them as of old to drink him on his way.
His pile of luggage rose, as brave...

Henry Lawson

The Shearing Shed

'The ladies are coming,' the super says
To the shearers sweltering there,
And 'the ladies' means in the shearing-shed:
'Don't cut 'em too bad. Don't swear.'
The ghost of a pause in the shed's rough heart,
And lower is bowed each head;
And nothing is heard, save a whispered word,
And the roar of the hearing-shed.

The tall, shy rouser has lost his wits,
And his limbs are all astray;
He leaves a fleece on the shearing-board,
And his broom in the shearer's way.
There's a curse in store for that jackaroo
As down by the wall he slants,
And the ringer bends with his legs askew
And wishes he'd patched his pants.

They are girls from the city. (Our hearts rebel
As we squint at their dainty feet.)
And they gush and say in a girly way
That 'the ...

Henry Lawson

When The Ladies Come To The Shearing Shed

The ladies are coming, the super says
To the shearers sweltering there,
And the ladies means in the shearing shed:
Dont cut em too bad. Dont swear.
The ghost of a pause in the sheds rough heart,
And lower is bowed each head;
And nothing is heard, save a whispered word,
And the roar of the shearing-shed.

The tall, shy rouser has lost his wits,
And his limbs are all astray;
He leaves a fleece on the shearing-board,
And his broom in the shearers way.
Theres a curse in store for that jackaroo
As down by the wall he slants,
And the ringer bends with his legs askew
And wishes hed patched them pants.

They are girls from the city. (Our hearts rebel
As we squint at their dainty feet.)
And they gush and say in a girly way
That ...

Henry Lawson