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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344049" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Saltbush Bill's Gamecock</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town; <br>He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take 'Em Down; <br>He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard: <br>For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard. <br>He bore no malice to Stingy Smith -- 'twas simply the hand of Fate <br>That caused his waggon to swerve aside and shatter old Stingy's gate; <br>And being only the hand of Fate, it follows, without a doubt, <br>It wasn't the fault of Saltbush Bill that Stingy's sheep got out. <br>So Saltbush Bill, with an easy heart, prepared for what might befall, <br>Commenced his stages on Take 'Em Down, the station of Roostr Hall. <br>'Tis strange how often the men out back will take to some curious craft, <br>Some ruling passion to keep their thoughts away from the overdraft: <br>And Rooster Hall, of the Take 'Em Down, was widely known to fame <br>As breeder of champion fighting cocks -- his forte was the British Game. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The passing stranger within his gates that camped with old Rooster Hall <br>Was forced to talk about fowls all noght, or else not talk at all. <br>Though droughts should come, and though sheep should die, his fowls were his sole delight; <br>He left his shed in the flood of work to watch two game-cocks fight. <br>He held in scorn the Australian Game, that long-legged child of sin; <br>In a desperate fight, with the steel-tipped spurs, the British Game must win! <br>The Australian bird was a mongrel bird, with a touch of the jungle cock; <br>The want of breeding must find him out, when facing the English stock; <br>For British breeding, and British pluck, must triumph it over all -- <br>And that was the root of the simple creed that governed old Rooster Hall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas Saltbush Bill to the station rode ahead of his travelling sheep, <br>And sent a message to Rooster Hall that wakened him out of his sleep -- <br>A crafty message that fetched him out, and hurried him as he came -- <br>"A drover has an Australian bird to match with your British Game." <br>'Twas done, and done in half a trice; a five-pound note a side; <br>Old Rooster Hall, with his champion bird, and the drover's bird untried. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Steel spurs, of course?" said old Rooster Hall; "you'll need 'em, without a doubt!" <br>"You stick the spurs on your bird!" said Bill, "but mine fights best without." <br>"Fights best without?" said old Rooster Hall; "he can't fight best unspurred! <br>You must be crazy!" But Saltbush Bill said, "Wait till you see my bird!" <br>So Rooster Hall to his fowl-yard went, and quickly back he came, <br>Bearing a clipt and a shaven cock, the pride of his English Game; <br>With an eye as fierce as an eaglehawk, and a crow like a trumbet call, <br>He strutted about on the garden walk, and cackled at Rooster Hall. <br>Then Rooster Hall sent off a boy with a word to his cronies two, <br>McCrae (the boss of the Black Police) and Father Donahoo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full many a cockfight old McCrae had held in his empty Court, <br>With Father D. as the picker-up -- a regular all-round Sport! <br>They got the message of Rooster Hall, and down to his run they came, <br>Prepared to scoff at the drover's bird, and to bet on the English Game; <br>They hied them off to the drover's camp, while Saltbush rode before -- <br>Old Rooster Hall was a blithsome man, when he thought of the treat in store. <br>They reached the camp, where the drover's cook, with countenance all serene, <br>Was boiling beef in an iron pot, but never a fowl was seen. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Take off the beef from the fire," said Bill, "and wait till you see the fight; <br>There's something fresh for the bill-of-fare -- there's game-fowl stew tonight! <br>For Mister Hall has a fighting cock, all feathered and clipped and spurred; <br>And he's fetched him here, for a bit of sport, to fight our Australian bird. <br>I've made a match for our pet will win, though he's hardly a fighting cock, <br>But he's game enough, and it's many a mile that he's tramped with the travelling stock." <br>The cook he banged on a saucepan lid; and, soon as the sound was heard, <br>Under the dray, in the shallow hid, a something moved and stirred: <br>A great tame emu strutted out. Said Saltbush, "Here's our bird!" <br>Bur Rooster Hall, and his cronies two, drove home without a word. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The passing stranger within his gates that camps with old Rooster Hall <br>Must talk about something else than fowls, if he wishes to talk at all. <br>For the record lies in the local Court, and filed in its deepest vault, <br>That Peter Hall, of the Take 'Em Down, was tried for a fierce assault <br>On a stranger man, who, in all good faith, and prompted by what he heard, <br>Had asked old Hall if a British Game could beat an Australian bird; <br>And Old McCrae, who was on the bench, as soon as the case was tried, <br>Remarked, "Discharged with a clean discharge -- the assault was justified!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Andrew+Barton+Paterson">Andrew Barton Paterson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344049" data-title="Saltbush Bill's Gamecock de Andrew Barton Paterson" data-description="'Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town; He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take 'Em Down; He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard: For Stingy Smith, o..."></div> </div> </div>
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