Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson

The Scorcher and the Howling Swell

The Scorcher and the Howling Swell were riding through the land; 
They wept like anything to see the hills on every hand; 
”If these were only levelled down,” they said, ”it would be grand.” 

”If every bloke that rides a bike put in a half-a-crown, 
Do you suppose,” the Scorcher said, ”that that would cut them down?” 
”I doubt it,” said the Howling Swell, and frowned a doleful frown. 

”Oh, ladies, come and ride with us,” the Scorcher did entreat, 
”A little ride across the park and down the smoothest street, 
And you will have a chance to show your very dainty feet.” 

The Scorcher rode up all the hills, as if the same were flat; 
”It’s very rude,” the ladies said, ”to ride as fast as that; 
For all of us are out of breath - and some of us are fat.” 

”Cheer up, cheer up, my ladies gay,” the Howling Swell replied; 
”Behold a tea-shop by the way, with Globe Brand Tea inside; 
And all who drink the Globe Brand Tea up any hill can ride.” 

And every lady in the band revived on Globe Brand Tea, 
That Atcherley and Dawson sell in George Street, near the Quay, 
And Howling Swells and Scorchers both proclaim its purity.

1. The Wargeilah Handicap
2. There’s Another Blessed Horse Fell Down
3. Shearing at Castlereagh
4. Swinging the Lead
5. The Maori’s Wool

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