Эндрю Бартон Патерсон (Andrew Barton Paterson)

That Half-Crown Sweep

The run of Billabong-go-dry 
Is just beyond Lime Burner’s Gap; 
Its waterhole and tank supply 
Is excellent -- upon the map. 
But lacking nature’s liquid drench, 
The station staff are wont to try 
With ”Bob-in Sweeps” their thirst to quench, 
Or nearly quench, at Bong-go-dry. 
The parson made five-yearly rounds 
That soil of arid souls to delve, 
He wrote, ”I’ll come for seven pounds, 
Or I could stop away for twelve.” 
But lack of lucre brought about 
The pusillanimous reply: 
”Our luxuries are all cut out, 
You’ll have to go to Bong-go-dry.” 

Now rabbit skins were very high -- 
There’d been a kind of rabbit rush -- 
And what with traps and sticks they’d shy, 
The station blacks were very flush, 
And each was taught his churchman’s job, 
”When that one parson’s plate comes roun’ 
No good you put in sprat or bob, 
Too quick you put in harp-a-crown.” 

The parson’s word was duly kept, 
He came and did his bit of speak; 
The boss remarked he hadn’t slept 
So sound and well for many a week. 
But Gilgai Jack and Monkey Jaw 
Regarded preaching as a crime 
Against good taste; they said, ”What for 
That one chap yabber all the time?” 

Proceedings ceased: the boss’s hat 
Was raked from underneath his chair; 
The coloured congregation sat 
And waited with expectant air. 
At last from one far-distant seat 
Where Gilgai’s Mary’d been asleep, 
There came a kind of plaintive bleat, 
”Say, boss! Who won the harp-crown sweep?”

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