Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Copy
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344050" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Saltbush Bill's Second Flight</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large, <br>That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge, <br>Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh; <br>And the squatters swore when they heard the news, and wished they were well away: <br>For the name and the fame of Saltbush Bill were over the country-side <br>For the wonderful way that he fed his sheep, and the dodges and tricks he tried. <br>He would lose his way on a Main Stock Route, and stray to the squatters' grass; <br>He would come to a run with the boss away, and swear he had leave to pass; <br>And back of all and behind it all, as well the squatters knew, <br>If he had to fight, he would fight all day, so long as his sheep got through: <br>But this is the story of Stingy Smith, the owner of Hard Times Hill, <br>And the way that he chanced on a fighting man to reckon with Saltbush Bill. <br> <br>'Twas Stingy Smith on his stockyard sat, and prayed for an early Spring, <br>When he started at sight of a clean-shaved tramp, who walked with a jaunty swing; <br>For a clean-shaved tramp with a jaunty walk a-swinging along the track <br>Is as rare a thing as a feathered frog on the desolate roads out back. <br>So the tramp he made for the travellers' hut, to ask could he camp the night; <br>But Stingy Smith had a bright idea, and called to him, "Can you fight?" <br>"Why, what's the game?" said the clean-shaved tramp, as he looked at him up and down; <br>"If you want a battle, get off that fence, and I'll kill you for half-a-crown! <br>But, Boss, you'd better not fight with me -- it wouldn't be fair nor right; <br>I'm Stiffener Joe, from the Rocks Brigade, and I killed a man in a fight: <br>I served two years for it, fair and square, and now I'm trampin' back, <br>To look for a peaceful quiet life away on the outside track." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Oh, it's not myself, but a drover chap," said Stingy Smith with glee, <br>"A bullying fellow called Saltbush Bill, and you are the man for me. <br>He's on the road with his hungry sheep, and he's certain to raise a row, <br>For he's bullied the whole of the Castlereagh till he's got them under cow -- <br>Just pick a quarrel and raise a fight, and leather him good and hard, <br>And I'll take good care that his wretched sheep don't wander a half a yard. <br>It's a five-pound job if you belt him well -- do anything short of kill, <br>For there isn't a beak on the Castlereagh will fine you for Saltbush Bill." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I'll take the job," said the fighting man; "and, hot as this cove appears, <br>He'll stand no chance with a bloke like me, what's lived on the game for years; <br>For he's maybe learnt in a boxing school, and sparred for a round or so, <br>But I've fought all hands in a ten-foot ring each night in a travelling show; <br>They earned a pound if they stayed three rounds, and they tried for it every night. <br>In a ten-foot ring! Oh, that's the game that teaches a bloke to fight, <br>For they'd rush and clinch -- it was Dublin Rules, and we drew no colour line; <br>And they all tried hard for to earn the pound, but they got no pound of mine. <br>If I saw no chance in the opening round I'd slog at their wind, and wait <br>Till an opening came -- and it always came -- and I settled 'em, sure as fate; <br>Left on the ribs and right on the jaw -- and, when the chance comes, make sure! <br>And it's there a professional bloke like me gets home on an amateur: <br>For it's my experience every day, and I make no doubt it's yours, <br>That a third-class pro is an over-match for the best of the amateurs --" <br>"Oh, take your swag to the travellers' hut," said Smith, "for you waste your breath; <br>You've a first-class chance, if you lose the fight, of talking your man to death. <br>I'll tell the cook you're to have your grub, and see that you eat your fill, <br>And come to the scratch all fit and well to leather this Saltbush Bill." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas Saltbush Bill, and his travelling sheep were wending their weary way <br>On the Main Stock Route, through the Hard Times Run, on their six-mile stage a day; <br>And he strayed a mile from the Main Stock Route, and started to feed along, <br>And when Stingy Smith came up Bill said that the Route was surveyed wrong; <br>And he tried to prove that the sheep had rushed and strayed from their camp at night, <br>But the fighting man he kicked Bill's dog, and of course that meant a fight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So they sparred and fought, and they shifted ground, and never a sound was heard <br>But the thudding fists on their brawny ribs, and the seconds' muttered word, <br>Till the fighting man shot home his left on the ribs with a mighty clout, <br>And his right flashed up with a half-arm blow -- and Saltbush Bill "went out". <br>He fell face down, and towards the blow; and their hearts with fear were filled, <br>For he lay as still as a fallen tree, and they thought that he must be killed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So Stingy Smith and the fighting man, they lifted him from the ground, <br>And sent back home for a brandy-flask, and they slowly fetched him round; <br>But his head was bad, and his jaw was hurt -- in fact, he could scarcely speak -- <br>So they let him spell till he got his wits; and he camped on the run a week, <br>While the travelling sheep went here and there, wherever they liked to stray, <br>Till Saltbush Bill was fit once more for the track to the Castlereagh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Stingy Smith he wrote a note, and gave to the fighting man: <br>'Twas writ to the boss of the neighbouring run, and thus the missive ran: <br>"The man with this is a fighting man, one Stiffener Joe by name; <br>He came near murdering Saltbush Bill, and I found it a costly game: <br>But it's worth your while to employ the chap, for there isn't the slightest doubt <br>You'll have no trouble from Saltbush Bill while this man hangs about." <br>But an answer came by the next week's mail, with news that might well appal: <br>"The man you sent with a note is not a fighting man at all! <br>He has shaved his beard, and has cut his hair, but I spotted him at a look; <br>He is Tom Devine, who has worked for years for Saltbush Bill as cook. <br>Bill coached him up in the fighting yard, and taught him the tale by rote, <br>And they shammed to fight, and they got your grass, and divided your five-pound note. <br>'Twas a clean take-in; and you'll find it wise -- 'twill save you a lot of pelf -- <br>When next you're hiring a fighting man, just fight him a round yourself." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the teamsters out on the Castlereagh, when they meet with a week of rain, <br>And the waggon sinks to its axle-tree, deep down in the black-soil plain, <br>When the bullocks wade in a sea of mud, and strain at the load of wool, <br>And the cattle-dogs at the bullocks' heels are biting to make them pull, <br>When the off-side driver flays the team, and curses tham while he flogs, <br>And the air is thick with the language used, and the clamour of men and dogs -- <br>The teamsters say, as they pause to rest and moisten each hairy throat, <br>They wish they could swear like Stingy Smith when he read that neighbour's note.</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=344050" data-title="Saltbush Bill's Second Flight de Andrew Barton Paterson" data-description="The news came down on the Castlereagh, and went to the world at large, That twenty thousand travelling sheep, with Saltbush Bill in charge, Were drifting down from a dried-out run to ravage the Castlereagh; And the squatters swore when they hea..."></div> </div> </div>
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black