Who Is Kater Anyhow?

Why, oh why was Kater lifted
From the darkness, where he drifted
All unknown, and raised to honour,
Side by side with Dick O'connor,
In the Council, free from row?
Who is Kater, anyhow?

Did he lend our armies rally,
Like the recent Billy Dalley?
Did he lend a Premier money,
Like - (No libels here, my sonny. Ed. B.)
Was he, like John Davies, found
Very useful underground?

Not at all! his claim to glory
Rests on quite another story.
All obscure he might have tarried,
But he managed to get married
And (to cut the matter shorter)
Married William Forster's daughter.

So, when Henry Edward Kater
Goes to answer his creator,
Will the angel at the wicket
Say, on reading Kater's ticket
"Enter! for you're no impostor,
Son-in-law of Billy Foster!"

Andrew Barton Paterson

Andrew Barton Paterson, also known as Banjo Paterson, was an Australian bush poet, journalist, and author. Renowned for his poignant and humorous depictions of rural Australia, he wrote iconic works like "Waltzing Matilda" and "The Man from Snowy River." His storytelling, deeply rooted in Australian culture, has cemented his legacy as one of the nation's most beloved literary figures.

Andrew Barton Paterson

Out Of Sight

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

How The Favourite Beat Us

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

A Singer Of The Bush

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

The Great Calamity

Andrew Barton Paterson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Ballad Of That P.N.

The shades of night had fallen at last,
When through the house a shadow passed,
That once had been the Genial Dan,
But now become a desperate man,
At question time he waited near,
And on the Premier's startled ear
A voice fell like half a brick,
"Did ye, or did ye not, pay Crick
Did ye?"

By land and sea the Premier sped,
But found his foe where'er he fled,
The sailors swore, with whitened lip,
That Neptune swam behind the ship:
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Behold, 'twas no one else but Dan,
And through the roaring of the gale
That clarion voice took up the tale,
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Did not the Ministry pay Crick
Did they?"

In railway trains he sought retreat,
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The All Right Un

He came from "further out",
That land of fear and drought
And dust and gravel.
He got a touch of sun,
And rested at the run
Until his cure was done,
And he could travel.

When spring had decked the plain,
He flitted off again
As flit the swallows.
And from that western land,
When many months were spanned,
A letter came to hand,
Which read as follows:

"Dear Sir, I take my pen
In hopes that all their men
And you are hearty.
You think that I've forgot
Your kindness, Mr Scott;
Oh, no, dear sir, I'm not
That sort of party.

"You sometimes bet, I know.
Well, now you'll have a show
The 'books' to frighten.
Up here at Wingadee
Young Billy Fife and me
We're training Strife, and he
Is a all right un....

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Constable MCartys Investigations

Most unpleasantly adjacent to the haunts of lower orders
Stood a terrace in the city when the current year began,
And a notice indicated there were vacancies for boarders
In the middle house, and lodgings for a single gentleman.
Now, a singular observer could have seen but few attractions
Whether in the house, or missus, or the notice, or the street,
But at last there came a lodger whose appearances and actions
Puzzled Constable MCarty, the policeman on the beat.

He (the single gent) was wasted almost to emaciation,
And his features were the palest that MCarty ever saw,
And these indications, pointing to a past of dissipation,
Greatly strengthened the suspicions of the agent of the law.
He (the lodger, hang the pronoun!) seemed to like the stormy weather,
When th...

Henry Lawson

The Hypnotist

A man once read with mind surprised
Of the way that people were "hypnotised";
By waving hands you produced, forsooth,
A kind of trance where men told the truth!
His mind was filled with wond'ring doubt;
He grabbed his hat and he started out,
He walked the street and he made a "set"
At the first half-dozen folk he met.
He "tranced" them all, and without a joke
'Twas much as follows the subjects spoke:

First Man

"I am a doctor, London-made,
Listen to me and you'll hear displayed
A few of the tricks of the doctor's trade.
'Twill sometimes chance when a patient's ill
That a dose, or draught, or a lightning pill,
A little too strong or a little too hot,
Will work its way to a vital spot.
And then I watch with a sickly grin
While the patie...

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The Squatter Of The Olden Time

    (Air: A fine old English gentleman.)


Ill sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Who swore by right pre-emptive at a sanguinary rate
That by his rams, his ewes, his lambs, Australia was made great
    Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.

His hut around was hung with guns, whips, spurs, and boots and shoes,
And kettles and tin pannikins to hold the tea he brews;
And here his worship lolls at ease and takes his smoke and snooze,
And quaffs his cup of hysouskin, the beverage old chums choose
    Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.

And when shearing time approaches he opens hut to all,
And though ten thousand are his flocks, he featly shears them ...

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Jack Cornstalk

I met with Jack Cornstalk in London to-day,
He saw me and coo-eed from over the way.
Oh! the solemn-faced Londoners stared with surprise
At his hair and his height as compared with his size!
For his trousers were short and his collar was low,
And, theres not room to coo-ee in London, I know.

But I said to him, Jack! as he gripped my hand fast,
Oh, I hear that our Countrys a nation at last!
I hear they have launched the new ship of the State,
And with men at the wheel who are steering it straight.
I hear twas the vote of your Bush mates and you;
And, oh, tell me, Jack Cornstalk, if this can be true?

I hear that the bitter black strike times are oer,
And that Grabbitt and Co. shall crush Labour no more;
That Australians are first where Australia ...

Henry Lawson