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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408630" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>GS [or the Fourth Cook]</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He has notions of Australia from the tales that he’s been told—<br>Land of leggings and revolvers, land of savages and gold;<br>So he begs old shirts, and someone patches up his worn-out duds.<br>He is shipped as ‘general servant,’ scrubbing pots and peeling spuds<br>(In the steamer’s grimy alley, hating man and peeling spuds). <br>There is little time to comfort, there is little time to cry—<br>He will come back with a fortune—‘We’ll be happy by-and-by!’<br>Scarcely time to kiss his sweetheart, barely time to change his duds,<br>Ere they want him at the galley, and they set him peeling spuds<br>(With a butcher’s knife, a bucket, and, say, half a ton of spuds). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he peels ’em hard to Plymouth, peels ’em fast to drown his grief,<br>Peels ’em while his stomach sickens on the road to Teneriffe;<br>Peels ’em while the donkey rattles, peels ’em while the engine thuds,<br>By the time they touch at Cape Town he’s a don at peeling spuds<br>(And he finds some time for dreaming as he gets on with the spuds). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the steamer’s slushy alley, where the souls of men are dead,<br>And the adjectives are crimson if the substances are red,<br>He’s perhaps a college black-sheep, and, maybe, of ancient blood—<br>Ah! his devil grips him sometimes as he reaches for a spud<br>(And he jerks his head and sadly gouges dry-rot from a spud). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And his brave heart hopes and sickens as the weary days go round;<br>There is lots o’ time for blue-lights ere they reach King George’s Sound.<br>But he gets his best suit ready—two white shirts and three bone studs!<br>He will face the new world bravely when he’s finished with the spuds<br>(And next week, perhaps, he’ll gladly take a job at peeling spuds). </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There were heroes in Australia went exploring long ago;<br>There are heroes in Australia that the world shall never know;<br>And the men we use for heroes in the land of droughts and floods<br>Often win their way to Sydney scrubbing pots and peeling spuds<br>(Plucky beggars! brave, poor devils! gouging dry-rot from their spuds).</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<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=408630" data-title="GS [or the Fourth Cook] de Henry Lawson" data-description="He has notions of Australia from the tales that he’s been told—
Land of leggings and revolvers, land of savages and gold;
So he begs old shirts, and someone patches up his worn-out duds.
He is shipped as ‘general servant,’ scrubbing pots a..."></div>
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