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Notes to this rather puzzling song. I assume the Baron of Vaucluse’ was Sir Henry Browne Hayes, who built Vaucluse House. Here is a reference from The Freeman’s Journal (Sydney) 1854) that refers to the subject.

CHOW YOW FIN.  The Empire (Sydney) 1852


[We feel it a duty to assure the “Baron of Vaucluse,” lest he should attribute the following lyric to the wild spleen of some ungovernable Chartist, that the manuscript is in a very pretty feminine handwriting, lt was anonymously dropped into our letter-box, but we are constrained by a feeling of homage for the unknown lady minstrel and our respect for the hero of her song, to break through our editorial rules and to give it insertion in our columns, without asking any questions.]

The Lord of Vaucluse is gloomy and sad,

His collar’s awry, and he looks very bad ;

He paces his chamber with furious tread,

With a Panama hat on the top of his head.

Hurried and flurried,

Excited and worried.

He drinks not his coffee, he eats not his grub,

But looks like Diog’nes who liv’d in a tub.

Chow Yow Fin from Vaucluse is fled,

And alarm through the rest of the vassals has spread,

As they trembling think of the terrible fate

That, will fall to the lot of their runaway mate.

Rambling and scrambling.

Trotting and ambling,

If he’s gone to the diggings he’ll soon be brought back.

For the lndigoes Royal are out on his track.

The sound of the banjo is heard in the hall

How sweet on the ear do its dulcet notes fall,

Like the gushing of water through dingle or dell

Or a Black Serenader at Sparkes’s Hotel.

Twanging and banging,

Banging and twanging,

Mixed with its notes as they travel along,

The voice of ” The Baron” is heard in this song.

You have been, and gone, and left me

Tho’ I gave you rice.” Yow Fin,

With an iron pot to boil it

And a pannikin of tin:

The blue shirt of the digger

On your shoulders broad I placed,

And in trousers of white moleskin

Your graceful legs I cased.

My bison skin you slighted,

Which cost thirty bob a chest,

Also the ration sugar,

Though its sand was of the best.

Tho’ to me you were indented,

Though to me of faith you spoke,

Your China faith, Celestial !

Like a China plate you broke.

I’ll buy no more Celestials

For they really make me ill;

My serfs shall be hereafter

Tho Coolies of the Hill.

But if the Bobbies catch you

Rely on this, Yow Fin.

You shall vegetate at Darlinghurst

Till your bones come thro’ your skin.

An Indigo’s seen at the gates of Vaucluse,

The “Baron” impatient runs down for the news ;

But no tidings he brings of that child of sin,

The runaway vassal nam’d Chow Yow Fin.

Clean cut and run

Is that son of a gun,

They have sought far away, they have sought on the spot,”

They have sought at the diggings, but found him not.

Ne’er since that day has that vassal been seen :

The Baron in spouting has vented his spleen ;

The Celestial brains have been puzzled in vain

Any clue to their missing companion to gain.

‘ For Chow Yow Fin Has never “agin”

By those of Vaucluse been heard of as yet,

Though Two Pounds reward on his pigtail was set.

The “Baron” has never been cheerful since then,

He scowls at the women, he blows up the men;

He despises all China goods, whate’er they be,

He scorns rattan chairs, and he never drinks tea ;

Ne’er at Vaucluse is China in use.

They drink out of pewter, they eat off of tin,

And all through the baseness of false Chow Yow Fin.





Chinee Cook

Oh could I taste again of those delicious luscious things
I could pardon him of robbery of other people’s rings
I exaggerated principle, my duty I mistook
When I handed over to the law my peerless Chinese cook.

What would I give now for one of his superb ragouts,
His entremets, his entrees, his incomparable stews;
Oh, not a taste and piquancy my happy board forsook,
When I came the JP over my lamented Chinee cook.