Classic Poem

(A Dirge of Sin and Sorrow, Sung by Joe Swallow)

There was a Squatter in the land —
So runs the truthful tale I tell —
There also were three Cornstalks, and
There also was the Squatter's Well.

Singing ( slowly ): " Sin and sorrer, sin and sor-rer, sin and sor-r-r-rer. "

The Squatter he was full of pluck,
The Cornstalks they were full of sin,
The well it was half full of muck
That many rains had drifted in.

Singing ( with increased feeling ): " Sin, &c. "

The Squatter hired the Cornstalks Three
To cleanse the well of mud and clay;
And so they started willing-lee
At five-and-twenty bob a day.

Singing ( apprehensively ): " Sin, &c. "

At five-and-twenty bob the lot —
That's eight-and-four the day would bring
To each; and so they thought they'd got
A rather soft and easy thing.

Singing ( sadly ): " Sin, &c. "

The Cornstalks cleaned the well within
A day or two, or thereabout —
And then they worked an awful sin —
A scheme to make the job last out.

Singing ( reproachfully ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

For when the well was cleaned out quite
Of all its logs and muck and clay
They tipped a drayload down at night
And worked to haul it up next day.

Singing ( dismally ): " Sin, &c. "

But first the eldest, christened Hodge,
He greased the dray-wheel axles, so
The super wouldn't smell the dodge
And couldn't let the Squatter know.

Singing ( hopelessly ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

The stuff they surfaced out each day
With some surprise the Squatter saw.
He never dreamt the sand and clay
Was three miles off the night before.

Singing ( mournfully ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

But he got something in his eye;
It wasn't green, that's very plain.
He said the well was rather dry,
And they could fill it up again.

Singing ( mournfully and dismally ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

The Cornstalks went to work next day
In hope, of course, of extra tin —
The Squatter watched, and, sad to say,
The mullock wouldn't all go in.

Singing ( with great pathos ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

And though the Cornstalks twigged the ruse
Whereby the boss had done 'em brown,
They argued that the clay was loose,
And wanted time to settle down.

Singing ( hopelessly ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

The boss began to rave and tear,
And yelled with a most awful frown,
" I will not settle up, I swear,
Till that there clay is settled down! "

Singing ( hopefully ): " Sin, &c. "

" Before my cheques yer'll pocket, boys,
Yer'll put a mountain in a well " —
The Cornstalks didn't make a noise,
They only murmured sadly — !

Singing ( triumphantly ): " Sin and sorrer, &c. "

There is a moral to my rhyme —
A moral to the dirge I sing —
That when you do go in for crime
You mustn't overdoo the thing.

Singing ( more dismally than ever ): " Sin and sorrer, s-i-n and sor-r-r-r-rer! "