Classic Poem

I'll introdooce a friend!' he said,
And if you've got a vacant pen
You'd better take him in the shed
And start him shearing straight ahead,
He's one of these here quiet men.

" He never strikes — that ain't his game;
No matter what the others try
HE goes on shearing just the same.
I never rightly knew his name —
We always call him " Gundagai " !"

Our flashest shearer then had gone
To train a racehorse for a race,
And while his sporting fit was on
He couldn't be relied upon,
So " Gundagai" shore in his place.

Alas for man's veracity!
For reputations false and true!
This " Gundagai" turned out to be,
For strife and all-round villainy,
The very worst I ever knew!

He started racing Jack Devine,
And grumbled when I made him stop.
The pace he showed was extra fine,
But all those pure-bred ewes of mine
Were bleeding like a butcher's shop.

He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed,
From roof to rafter, floor to shelf;
As for my mongrel ewes, he said,
I ought to get a razor blade
And shave the blooming things myself.

On Sundays he controlled a " school",
And played " two-up" the livelong day;
And many a young confiding fool
He shore of his financial wool;
And when he lost he would not pay.

He organised a shearers' race,
And " touched" me to provide the prize.
His packhorse showed surprising pace
And won hands down — he was The Ace,
A well-known racehorse in disguise.

Next day the bruiser of the shed.
Displayed an opal-tinted eye,
With large contusions on his head.
He smiled a sickly smile, and said
He'd " had a cut at " Gundagai " !"

But just as we were getting full
Of " Gundagai" and all his ways,
A telegram for " Henry Bull"
Arrived. Said he, " That's me — all wool!
Let's see what this here message says."

He opened it, his face grew white,
He dropped the shears and turned away.
It ran, " Your wife took bad last night;
Come home at once — no time to write,
We fear she may not last the day."

He got his cheque — I didn't care
To dock him for my mangled ewes;
His store account — we " called it square".
Poor wretch! he had enough to bear,
Confronted by such dreadful news.

The shearers raised a little purse
To help a mate, as shearers will,
" To pay the doctor and the nurse,
And if there should be something worse —
To pay the undertaker's bill."

They wrung his hand in sympathy,
He rode away without a word,
His head hung down in misery.
A wandering hawker passing by
Was told of what had just occurred.

" Well! that's a curious thing," he said,
" I've known that feller all his life —
He's had the loan of this here shed!
I know his wife ain't nearly dead,
Because he HASN'T GOT A WIFE!"
...............

You should have heard the whipcord crack
As angry shearers galloped by,
In vain they tried to fetch him back.
A little dust along the track
Was all they saw of " Gundagai".