Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson

The Federal Bus Conductor and the Old Lady

Now ’urry, Mrs New South Wales, and come along of us, 
We’re all a-goin’ ridin’ in the Federation ’bus. 
A fam’ly party, don’t you know -- yes, Queenslans’s comin’, too, 
You can’t afford it! Go along! We’ve kep’ box seat for you. 
The very one of all the lot that can afford it best, 
You’ll only have to pay your share the same as all the rest. 
You say your sons is workin’ men, and can’t afford to ride! 
Well, all our sons is workin’ men, a-smokin’ up outside. 
You think you might be drove to smash by some unskilful bloke! 
Well, ain’t we all got necks ourselves? And we don’t want ’em broke. 
You bet your lofe we’re not such fools but what we’ll do our best 
To keep from harm -- for harm to one is harm to all the rest. 

Now, don’t go trudgin’ on alone, but get aboard the trap; 
That basket, labelled ”Capital”, you take it in your lap! 
It’s nearly time we made a start, so let’s ’ave no more talk: 
You ’urry up and get aboard, or else stop out and walk. 
We’ve got a flag; we’ve got a band; out ’orses travels fast; 
Ho! Right away, Bill! Let ’em go! The old ’un’s come at last!

1. Fed Up
2. Investigating Flora
3. A Triolet
4. The Maori Pig Market
5. How M’Ginnis went missing

Print

1678 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version