I was a squatter bold and free,
Though far from home exiled;
And I could boast a numerous host
Of sheep and cattle wild.
I quail’d not ‘neath the summer’s heat:
The winter’s cold I bore:
A bushy beard that ne’er was shear’d.
And clothes of tweed I wore.
I milk’d my cows, and kept my sheep,
In common with my men;
Nor tandem beat, nor coursers fleet
I kept about me then.
My wool bought me a handsome price;
My cattle still increased;
My flocks in size, my means likewise,
From growing never ceased.
I paid my fees, assessments too,
Nor feared ‘impending smash;’
My credit stood in Sydney good,
And I was saving cash.
Whilst thriving thus, three years passed by;
I went not once to town;
At last a friend, to serve his end,
To Sydney brought me down.
Says he, “let’s act like gentlemen”;
He knew I’d laid by cash;
And therefore we, both I and he,
In town could ‘cut a dash.’
I lent my friend a good round sum,
Just out of courtesy;
No mortgage took, nor did I look
For his security.
We passed our time in first-rate style,
As jolly squatters should;
And set at nought each whisp’ring thought
As to how matters stood.
At length the thought struck me that we
Had gone to far a-head;
For I found out, beyond a doubt,
My cash had nearly fled.
In vain I strove to stop my friend
In this our mad career;
All I could say, he dash’d away,
And cost me very dear.
At last my pocket was clean’d out,
My friend then slipp’d away;
And I was left, of means bereft,
A ‘tightish’ bill to pay.
I had to mortgage all my sheep,
And boil my cattle down;
My friend had seen that I was green,
And therefore did me ‘brown’.
Pray gents take warning by my fate,
Ne’er show off, nor be ‘flash’;
Your cash don’t lend, but cut your friend
Rather than ‘cut a dash’.