Song of the Squatter

The Commissioner bet me a pony—I won,
So he cut off exactly two-thirds of my run;
For he said I was making a fortune too fast,
And profit gained slower the longer would last.

He remarked, as devouring my mutton he sat,
That I suffered my sheep to grow sadly too fat;
That they wasted waste land, did prerogative brown,
And rebelliously nibbled the droits of the Crown;

That the creek that divided my station in two
Showed that Nature designed that two fees should be due.
Mr. Riddle assured me’t was paid but for show,
But he kept it and spent it, that ’s all that I know.

The commissioner fined me because I forgot
To return an old ewe that was ill of the rot,
And a poor wry-necked lamb that we kept for a pet;
And he said it was treason such things to forget.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Lowe Sherbrooke
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!