CHEERING BRADY OVER THE DROP

            Shivers  of  chill,  fear,  gall  this  May  morn

            Bush sounds start  Bowled out  Gammon

            the twelve, i would not  Nor defend,

            seek respite  My short reign,

            my wretched life, ends

            in  Hobart  Town –

            crown servant

            prisoned

            done

            Thirteen   rum   lags   hoisted   a   whaler

            through Hell’s Gates to Derwent River

            Knapped swell swag from travellers,

            guns, grub from homesteaders

            Assignment chums bolted

            Brady’s vandies

            nail pannies,

            flash-kens,

            barns

            Was  sold  like  a  bullock  at  Smithfield

            by that fence Thomas Kenton  Turned

            the old lag up sweet  He’d snitched

            ‘pon   me   to   traps   and   swads

            Mynabs  bashed  and  bound

            but scorched my bonds,

            absconded,

            shot him

            dead

            Twenty   gallons   o’  rum,  my   bounty

            Floggers   lashed   me   six   canaries

            Arthur combed the Western Tiers

            We ramped the rag-gorgies

            till  Cowan  turned  nose

            near  the  South  Esk

            Lame and legged,

            i         chose

            death

            Handsome morts napped the bib at my pain,

            a    bold    gill,    civil    to    blowen

   i  was boned  by John  Batman,

            a square cove  But why hang

            me  with  Jeffries,  gloak

            that choked kinchen?

            Time   to   croak

            B o d i n g s

            strange

                                                       Michael Small            January 7-13, 2004