Classic Poem

Come all you gallant poachers, that ramble void of care
That walk out on moonlight night with your dog, gun and snare,
The lofty hare and pheasants you have at your command,
Not thinking of your last career upon Van Dieman's Land.

Poor Tom Brown, from Nottingham, Jack williams, and Poor Joe,
we are three daring poachers, the country do well know.
At night we were trepann'd by the keepers hid in sand,
who for 14 years, transported us into Van Dieman's Land.

The first day that we landed upon that fatal shore
The planters they came round us full twenty score or more,
They rank'd us up like horses, and sold us out of hand
Then yok'd us unto ploughs, my boys, to plow Van
Dieman's Land.

Our cottages that we live in were built of clod & clay,
And rotten straw for bedding, & we dare not say nay
Our cots were fenc'd with fire, we slumber when we can,
To drive away wolves & tigers upon Van Dieman's Land.

Its often when in slumber I have a pleasant dream
with my sweet girl a setting down by a purlin stream,
Thro' England I've been roaming with her at command
Now I awaken broken hearted upon Van Dieman's Land.

God bless our wives and families likewise the happy shore,

As for our wretched females, see them we seldom can,
There's twenty to one woman upon Van Dieman's Land.

There was a girl from Birmingham, Susan Summers was her name,
For fourteen years transported we all well know the same
Our planter bought her freedom, and married her out of hand
She gave to us good usage upon Van Dieman's Land.

So all young gallant poachers give ear unto my song
It is a bit of good advice, although it is not long
Throw by your dogs & snare, for to you I speak plain,
For if you knew our hardships you'd never poach again.