There's a damper in the ashes, tea and sugar in the bags, <br />There's whips of feed and shelter on the sandridge for the nags, <br />There's gidya wood about us and water close at hand, <br />And just one bottle left yet of the good Glenlivet brand. <br /> <br />There are chops upon the embers, which same are close-up done, <br />From as fine a four-tooth wether as there is on Crossbred's run; <br />'Twas a proverb on the Darling, the truth of which I hold: <br />"That mutton's aye the sweetest which was never bought nor sold." <br /> <br />Out of fifty thousand wethers surely Crossbred shouldn't miss <br />A sheep or so to travellers-faith, 'tis dainty mutton, this - <br />Let's drink a nip to Crossbred; ah, you drain it with a grin, <br />Then shove along the billy, mate, and, squatted, let's wade in. <br /> <br />The night's a trifle chilly, and the stars are very bright, <br />A heavy dew is falling, but the fly is rigged aright; <br />You may rest your bones till morning, then if you chance to wake, <br />Give me a call about the time that daylight starts to break. <br /> <br />We may not camp to-morrow, for we've many a mile to go, <br />Ere we turn our horses' heads round to make tracks for down below. <br />There's many a water-course to cross, and many a black-soil plain, <br />And many a mile of mulga ridge ere we get back again. <br /> <br />That time five moons shall wax and wane we'll finish up the work, <br />Have the bullocks o'er the border and truck 'em down from Bourke, <br />And when they're sold at Homebush, and the agents settle up, <br />Sing hey! a spell in Sydney town and Melbourne for the "Cup".<br /><br />Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/westward-ho/
