Classic Poem

devil:In New South Wales, as I plainly see,
You're carving out plentiful jobs for me.
But forgive me for hinting your zeal is such
That I'm only afraid you'll do too much.
I know this well--To subject mankind
Tou must tickle before you attempt to bind!
Nor lay on his shoulder the yoke until
Through his habits you've first enslaved his will.
You're too violent far--you rush too madly
At your favourite ends and spoil them sadly.
Already, I warn you, your system totters,
They're a nest of hornets these rascally Squatters,
Especially when you would grasp their cash--
Excuse me, George, but I think you're rash.

governor:Rash! d--n it, rash!

devil:. . . . Don't fly in a passion,
In the higher circles 'tis not the fashion;
And swearing, besides, you must allow,
Is neither polite nor useful now.

governor:Would you have me forego the rights of the Crown,
To be laughed at all over this factious town?
I'll teach these Squatters to pay their rent,
And don't care one rush for their discontent;
They've abused me in print, they've made orations,
They've their papers and pastoral associations;
To England they've sent their vile petitions--
They've their Agents in swarms like heathen missions;
They've gone to the length of caricaturing--
But I'll show them the evil's past their curing.

devil:Come, come, be cool or your aim you'll miss,
Your temper's too hot for work like this;
This people I say will submit the more readily
If you've only the wit to grind them steadily.
You've a snug little tyranny under your thumb--
But manage it well, or down 'twill come.
'Twere a pity to peril this rich possession
By a foolish rashness or indiscretion;
Wentworth and Windeyer are troublesome chaps,
And the Council's a thorn in your side, perhaps;
But let them grumble and growl their fill,
You know very well their power is nil. . . .
Then calmly proceed, and with prudence act;
"In the middle lies safety"--that's a fact--
Subdue by degrees, and slowly oppress,
Or, I tell you, you'll get yourself into a mess.
While people petition, they'll find it "a sell"
But don't push them too hard, they might rebel.

governor:Rebel! ha! ha! you're surely in joke;
Rebellion here--a mere puff of smoke.
What would the people of England say
A rebellion! how queer! in Botany Bay!
Pick-pockets, swindlers, thieves, and jobbers,
Cut-throats, and burglars, and highway robbers--
A mob that escaped the gallows at home
'Tis worse than "the servile wars at Rome"!
A handful of troops would put them down,
And the higher classes would join the Crown.

devil:It might be so, but just mark, my friend--
Who come to be losers in the end?
No doubt there'd be fun well worth enjoying--
Burning, and plundering, and destroying;
Fighting for towns not worth disputing--
Skirmishing, robbing, and rifle-shooting
From bushes and trees, and rocks for barriers--
Murdering of post boys and plundering of carriers,
Storming of camp by midnight entries
Driving off horses, and popping off sentries--
Seizing of stock for purposes royal,
Pressing of men to make them loyal;
Some heroes might fall in that petty strife,
Whom bondage had taught a contempt of life,
Some patriots leading in civil storms,
Might dangle on gibbets their martyr forms
Or exiled afar, to return no more,
Might bury their bones on a foreign shore,
Proscribed by the tyrants they dared to brave
And mocked by the people they fought to save;
But not in vain would they bear or bleed,
This land would have gained what most they need.
John Bull from his drowsy indifference waking,
Would give some of you despots a terrible shaking;
You'd be robbed of your berth and your reputation,
For causing your masters so much vexation--
And the people your chains so closely bind,
A tardy justice would seek and find.
Take my advice, I offer it cheap--
Why, as I live, the man's asleep!
George, George, your manners much want reforming,
But I'll give your nose a bit of a warming.