I'd like to do now one which is a real old-timer, and I would like to do this in dedication to one of our greatest writers of verse of the past, the late and great Henry Lawson.
Here's the old story, anyway, about a character that Henry called Middleton's Rouseabouts.
Tall and freckled and sandy, they saw the country loud.
This was the picture of Andy, Middleton's Rouseabouts.
Type of a coming nation, in a land of cattle and sheep.
Worked on Middleton's station, for a pound a week and his keep.
On Middleton's wide dominions, lied the stock, whip and sheave.
Hadn't.
Any opinions, and he hadn't any ideas.
Swiftly the years went over, and liquor and trout prevailed.
And Middleton, he went as a drovey, you know, after his station had failed.
Or play now.
Type of a careless nation, men who are soon played out.
Middleton was, and so his station, was bought by the Rouseabouts.
Now flourishing beard and sandy, oh he's tall and he's solid and stout.
Yes, this is the true picture of Andy, you know, Middleton's Rouseabouts.
And now on his own dominion, he works with his overseers.
And he still hasn't any opinions, you know, and he hasn't any ideas.
Thank you.