Giles Collin he said to his mother one day,
Oh, mother, come bind up my head!
For tomorrow morning before it is day
I 'm sure I shall be dead.

‘Oh, mother, oh, mother, if I should die,
And I am sure I shall,
I will not be buried in our churchyard,
But under Lady Alice's wall.’

His mother she made him some water-gruel,
And stirred it up with a spoon;
Giles Collin he ate but one spoonful,
And died before it was noon.

Lady Alice was sitting in her window,
All dressed in her night-coif;
She saw as pretty a corpse go by

What How? How now? hath How such hearing found.
To throw Arts curious Image to the ground.
Cambridge and Oxford may their Glory now
Vaile to a Cobler did they know but How;
Though big with Art, they Cannot Overtopp
The Spirits teaching in a Coblers Shopp.

If they have sought to smite you low,
Yourselves have crouched before the blow;
Befooled, to the commands of knaves
Yourselves have turned the ears of slaves.

Have they despoiled you at their will?
You bowed your heads, submissive still,
While they, for plenty, bitterest need—
For freedom, slavery decreed.

Their lordship, with your slavery bent,
Is but their right, if you consent;
Have but the will, then you shall see
You own the welfare of the free!

As I went up to Craigbilly Fair,
Who did I meet but a jolly beggar,
And the name of this beggar they callèd him Rover,
And the name of his wife it was Kitty-lie-over.
There was Rover and Rover and Kitty-lie-over,
There was Rooney and Mooney,
And Nancy and Francey,
and Lily and Billy,
And Jamie and Joe,
And away went the beggar-men all in a row.

Again I went up to Craigbilly Fair,
And who should I meet but another beggar,
And this beggar's name they callèd him Rallax,
And the name of his wife it was Ould Madam Ball-o'-Wax.

Oh, Stormy's gone, that good old man,
To my way hay, Stormalong, John!
Oh, poor old Stormy's dead and gone,
To my aye, aye, aye, aye, Mister Stormalong!

We dug his grave with a silver spade,
His shroud of the finest silk was made.

We lowered him with a silver chain,
Our eyes all dim with more than rain.

An able sailor, bold and true,
A good old bosun to his crew.

He's moored at last, and furled his sail,
No danger now from wreck or gale.

I wish I was old Stormy's son,
I'd build me a ship of a thousand ton.

Lord Waterford is dead, says the Shan Van Vocht,
Lord Waterford is dead, says the Shan Van Vocht,
Lord Waterford is dead, and the devil's at his head,
And hell shall be his bed, says the Shan Van Vocht.

When he went down below, says the Shan Van Vocht,
Where the landlords all do go, says the Shan Van Vocht,
Queen Bess she did appear, and says she, you're wanted here
For this five and fifty year, says the Shan Van Vocht.

Then the divil he came on, says the Shan Van Vocht,
And says he to Bess, Begone! says the Shan Van Vocht,

I saw a peacock with a flaming tail,
I saw a blazing comet rain down hail;
I saw a cloud begirt with ivy round,
I saw a shady oak creep on the ground.
I saw a pismire swallow up a whale,
I saw the brackish sea brimful of ale;
I saw a Venice glass sixteen yards deep,
I saw a well full of men's tears that weep.
I saw men's eyes all on a flaming fire,
I saw an house big as the moon and higher;
I saw the sun all red, even at midnight:
I saw the man that saw this dreadful sight.

Throughout Australian history no tongue or pen can tell
Of such preconcerted treachery—there is no parallel—
As the tragic deed of Morgan's death; without warning he was shot
On Peechelba station, it will never be forgot.

I have oft-times heard of murders in Australia's golden land,
But such an open daylight scene of thirty in a band,
Assembled at the dawn of day, and then to separate,
Behind the trees, some on their knees, awaiting Morgan's fate.

Too busy was the servant-maid; she trotted half the night

He that in youthe no vertu will yowes,
In age all honor shall him refuse.

1. As—I rode out one evening down by a river
side, I heard two lovers talking, and the fair one she replied:
“You're the most on-constant young man that ever I did
know. You promised for to marry me, why did you not do so?”

2 “If I promised for to marry you, I was goin' to break my vow.
But believe me, dearest Nancy [Mary?], I could not come till now.
If I had all the gold and silver that ever my eyes did see,
Oh, gladly would I spend it, love, in your sweet company.”

3 “Oh, begone, you false deceiver, you told me that before!