The King And Queen And I

Oh, Scotty, have you visited the Picture Gallery,
And did you see the portraits of the King and Queen and me?
The portraits made by Longstaff, and the pictures done by Jack,
Of the King and Queen and Lawson and the lady all in black?

The King is robed in royal state, with medals on his breast,
And, like the mother Queen she is, Her Majesty is dressed.
The ladys dressed in simple black and sports no precious stones,
And I a suit of reach-me-downs I bought from Davy Jones.

Were strangers two to two, and each unto the other three,
I do not know the lady and I dont think she knows me.
Were strangers to each other here, and to the other two,
And they themselves are strangers yet, if all we hear is true.

I spose were just as satisfied as folks have ever been:
The lady would much rather be her own self than the Queen;
And though Im down and precious stiff and I admire King Ned,
Id sooner just be Harry, with his follies on his head.

We four may meet together, stranger folk have met, I ween,
Than a rhymer and a monarch and a lady and a queen.
Ned and I might talk it over on the terrace, frank and free,
With cigars, while Alexandra and the ladys having tea.

Anyway, well never quarrel while were hanging on the wall,
Friends! we all have had our troubles, we are human, one and all!
If by chance we hang together, hang together on the line,
And the thing should shock the Godly, then its Longstaffs fault, not mine.

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

MaCleay Street And Red Rock Lane

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Black Tracker or, Why He Lost The Track

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Author's Farewell To The Bushmen

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Mary Called Him 'Mister'

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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A Word From The Bards

It is New Years Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and theyre showing their binjies with pride
Theyre patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,
Old chaps,
When he sings in the Southern Land.

For the Southern Land is the Poets Home, and over the worlds wide roam,
There was never till now a binjied bard that lived in a poets home, old man;
For the poets home was a hell on earth, and I want you to understand,
That it isnt exactly a paradise down here in the Southern Land,
Old chap,
Down here in the Southern Land.

The Beer and the Bailiff were gone last night and the temple doorstep clean,
And...

Henry Lawson

And What Have You To Say

I mind the days when ladies fair
Helped on my overcoat,
And tucked the silken handkerchief
About my precious throat;
They used to see the poets soul
In every song I wrote.

They pleaded hard, but I had work
To do, and could not stay
I used to work the whole night through,
And what have you to say?

Twas clever, handsome woman then,
And I their rising star;
I could not see they worshipped me,
Because I saw too far.
(Tis well for one or two, I think,
That things are as they are.)

(I used to write for writings sake,
I used to write till day,
I loved my prose and poetry,
And what have you to say?)

I guess if one should meet me now
That she would gasp to think,
She ever knew a thing like me,
As down the s...

Henry Lawson

The Three Kings

Trio East is dead and the West is done, and again our course lies thus
South-east by Fate and the Rising Sun where the Three Kings* wait for us.
When our hearts are young and the world is wide, and the heights seem grand to climb,
We are off and away to the Sydney-side; but the Three Kings bide their time.

Ive been to the West, the digger said: he was bearded, bronzed and old;
Ah, the smothering curse of the East is wool, and the curse of the West is gold.
I went to the West in the golden boom, with Hope and a life-long mate,
They sleep in the sand by the Boulder Soak, and long may the Three Kings wait.

Ive had my fling on the Sydney-side, said a blacksheep to the sea,
Let the young fool learn when he cant be taught: Ive learnt whats good for me.
And he gazed ahead ...

Henry Lawson

The Imported Servant

The Blue Sky arches oer mountain and valley,
The scene is as fair as a scene can be,
But Im breaking my heart for a London alley,
And fogs that shall never come back to me.
I choke with tears when the day is dying,
The sunsets grand and the stars are bright;
But its O! for the smell of the fried fish frying
By the flaring stalls on a Saturday night.

And this, oh, this is the lonely sequel
Of all I pictured would come to pass!
They are treating me here as a friend and equal,
But theyd say in London that theyre no class.
When I think of their kindness my tears flow faster,
The girls are free and the chaps are grand:
Its the boss and the missus for mistress and master,
And they may be right, But I dont understand.

I see the air in its warm ...

Henry Lawson

The Black Bordered Letter

An SO es dead in London,
An answered to the call,
An trotted through the Long Street,
With earse an plumes an all?
We was village boys an brothers,
We was warm as we could be,
In the milk-walk an the fried fish,
Up in London, im an me.

We was warm,
We was warm,
As we ad always been;
We never ad a dry word
Till she come between.

I lived round Windsor Terrace,
An im across the wye,
An when I sailed a emigrant
We never said good-bye!
He wos better than a brother,
Wot you Bushmen call a mate.
(Did he reach the rylwye stytion,
As they told me, just too late!)

We was warm,
We was warm,
As pals was ever seen;
We never ad a dry word
Till she come between.

I meant to go back om...

Henry Lawson

The Ballad Of The Rousabout

A Rouseabout of rouseabouts, from any land, or none,
I bear a nick-name of the bush, and Im, a womans son;
I came from where I campd last night, and, at the day-dawn glow,
I rub the darkness from my eyes, roll up my swag, and go.

Some take the track for bitter pride, some for no pride at all,
(But, to us all the world is wide when driven to the wall)
Some take the track for gain in life, some take the track for loss,
And some of us take up the swag as Christ took up the Cross.

Some take the track for faith in men, some take the track for doubt,
Some flee a squalid home to work their own salvation out.
Some dared not see a mothers tears nor meet a fathers face,
Born of good Christian families some leap, head-long, from Grace.

Oh we are men who fought and ros...

Henry Lawson