‘Er name’s Doreen’€¦Well spare me… You could er knocked me down wiv '… Yes, me, that kids meself I know… An’ 'as a name for smoogin’ in our… I just lines up an’ tips the saucy…

Each poet that I know (he said) Has something funny in his head, Some wandering growth or queer dis… That gives to him strange unease. If such a thing he hasn’t got,

Alas, my dear, be you high-born, Or just a Sydney cutie, I fear you’ve earned a he-man’s sc… Thro’ failing in your duty. A lady would avert her eyes,

Ben Bowyang spluttered with rage… As two by two and three by three t… Climbing the fence to his 'tater’… Flannelled or fashioned in strides… Giggling gambolling into his yard…

Rugged men and tough men these, Men of the lonely ways, Hard and sturdy as their trees Where the timbered ranges raise Their ragged crests to rake the sk…

Alfred Ebenezer Jackson was a ver… Who aspired to be a statesman, and… At a general election as the Cand… Sworn to tell the truth ungarbled,… Jackson had a firm conviction that…

Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet, Stern lord of his house and kin, Is a small, bald man, and a cricke… Since the night he listened in On his young son’s set one winter…

I ‘ave written Mick a letter in r… Where ‘e arsts ’ow things is goin’… So I tries to buck 'im up a bit;… An’ I ain’t no nob at litrachure;… I suppose you fellers dream, Mick…

‘If I’d 'a’ played me Jack on tha… Sez Peter Begg, ‘I might ’a’ mad… ‘Ow could yeh?’ barks ole Poole.… I ’ad me Queen be’ind?' Sez Begg… I slung away me King to take that…

Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up… ‘Dangin’ things and 'darn in’ thin… For yesterday was pension day, Pe… Butcher’s meat and groceries and a… A bit of plug 'tobaker’ and a tin…

The Censor sits behind his desk, And smiles a censored smile; His great, blue pencil hovers o’er Some masterpiece awhile, Then swoops - oh, child of whose p…

Foot on the rail in the olden days… For all the world to see, A jolly old lot, they took their p… All unashamed and free, Passing their jest from lip to lip…

‘One-and-two-and-three-and-four You’re playing it by ear, boy! E… Miss Trapp, the music teacher, ve… English and respectable, the town’… Sitting in her ‘front room,’ elder…

Say, Bo, this little Yewropean wa… It grieves our gloryus nation to t… The vurry core of its great, stran… We’re tur-ble sore: That’s what.

Listening (said the old, grey Dig… With my finger on the trigger I was listening in the trenches on… And a lull came in the fighting, Save a sudden gun-flash lighting