A new chum went, to ease his care, A-many years ago, To loiter round Toolangi where The stately blue gums grow. No bushcraft had he for his quest,

‘Er pore dear Par.’ she sez, 'e k… An’ then she weeps an’ stares ‘ard… ’Twas thro’ ‘is death,’ she sez, ‘… To this,’ she sez . . . An’ then… ‘Er par,’ she sez, ‘me poor late ’…

Why, 'ow’s she goin’, Bill, ole s… I thort I knoo your dile! My oath! You look the proper sor… That khaki soots your style. I never 'eard you’d joined, yeh kn…

Sing a song o’ Hempire Mother’s took a fit, Nasty Germans buildin’ ships, An’ never mentioned it. Buildin’ beastly warships,

Aw, go write yer tinklin’ jingle,… Fer the mamby-pamby girl, all fluf… Them’s the sort ter fetch yer trou… Blow yer beauty! Wot’s the matter… Them there rhymers uv the wattle!…

Ow! Wow! Wow! (Funeral note sustained by flutes,… short-legged, large-headed dog in… Ow! Wow! We are the people who make the row…

‘Excuse me if I sit on you,’ the… ‘I fear I’ve been here all the af… ‘Spare excuses,’ said the saucer;… ‘Oh, I’ll stir him up directly,'… ‘Stop your clatter! Stop your cl…

Yes, it’s tryin’, Mrs Gudgits.… To ‘ave a ’usban’ on yer 'an’s not… An’ so I can’t go out with you, m… For me Jack is in there, gaspin’… With ‘is ’Ack! ‘Ack! ’Ack!' Lor…

Oh, this is the week when no rhyms… On the joy of the bush or the ills… Nor pour out his soul in delectabl… Of women and wine and the lure the… Nor pen philosophic if foolish dis…

1. ANTE-ELECTIONS Now, a cove the name of Blabb, a… He’s a haughty sort o’ high pan-ja… An’ he holds a very dignified posi… As the member for the districk whe…

Sir, - I try to do my duty as a p… With sane views about the science… And I’d ask the promulgators of e… To consider man’s interior economy… I shall not go into details. But…

At the meeting of the waters Where the dark tree shadows play Wangaratta’s sons and daughters Dream the drowsy hours away; Placid see the season’s greeting

Now this is the ballad of Jeremy… And likewise of Bobadil Brown, Of the Snooks and the Snaggers an… And Diggle and Daggle and Down. In fact, ’tis a song of a fatuous…

Stripped to the buff they circled… And jagged and swung and crossed; To uppercut and smash and pound No chances either lost; Till folks opined, in some alarm,

Far in the forest depths I dwell, The master mimic of them all, To pour from out my secret dell Echo of many a bushland call, That over all the forest spills;