The old bark kitchen is a-going now. Heels drumming on gin-cases under
stools; hands, knuckles, pipe-bowls, and pannikins keeping time on the
table.
And we sewed him in his hammock,
And we slipped him o'er the side,
And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low!
The Low Lands! The Low Lands!
And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low!
Old Boozer Smith--a dirty gin-sodden bundle of rags on the floor in the
corner with its head on a candle box, and covered by a horse rug--old
Boozer Smith is supposed to have been dead to the universe for hours
past, but the chorus must have disturbed his torpor; for, with a
suddenness and unexpectedness that makes the next man jump, there comes
a bellow from under the horse rug:
Wot though!--I wear!--a rag!--ged coat!
I'll wear it like a man!
and ceases as suddenly as it commenced. He struggles to bring his ruined
head and bloated face above the surface, glares round; then, no one
questioning his manhood, he sinks back and dies to creation; and
subsequent proceedings are only interrupted by a snore, as far as he is
concerned.
Little Jimmy Nowlett, the bullock-driver, is inspired. “Go on, Jimmy!
Give us a song!”
In the days when we were hard up
For want of wood and wire--
Jimmy always blunders; it should have been “food and fire”--
We used to tie our boots up
With lit--tle bits--er wire;
and--
I'm sitting in my lit--tle room,
It measures six by six;
The work-house wall is opposite,
I've counted all the bricks!
“Give us a chorus, Jimmy!”
Jimmy does, giving his head a short, jerky nod for nearly every word,
and describing a circle round his crown--as if he were stirring a pint
of hot tea--with his forefinger, at the end of every line:
Hall!--Round!--Me--Hat!
I wore a weepin' willer!
Jimmy is a Cockney.
“Now then, boys!”
Hall--round--me hat!
How many old diggers remember it?
And:
A butcher, and a baker, and a quiet-looking quaker,
All a-courting pretty Jessie at the Railway Bar.