Off to Town by Will H. Ogilvie

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Come on, boys, get your bridles; there's the big mob in the yard!
Who's copped my fancy saddle-cloth? No colts! l'll ride the mare;
It's no use fighting down the road on something buckling hard,
And when I'm bound for town I like to know that I'll get there.

Put up that rail behind you; wait a bit till I catch mine.
Woh! Back! you rushing devils! Now, then, block her on the fence.
Woh, there! my snorting favorite; look out for Number Nine.
By ghost! he nearly had you; and his kicking's no pretence.

Now, Jack, I'll block the chestnut chap; and ain't he rolling fat!
I don't mind betting you a quid he gives a prop or two.
Now, then, you dancing brumby's foal, what game is this you're at?
Look out for Teddy's pony there! Woh! beauties; let me through.

Stick up those rails behind you, Joe; the cook will want his horse;
I'd take the buckjump saddle, Jack, unless you want a fall.
You`ll ride him in the hunter? Oh, well! have your way, of course;
But don't forget a gravel-rash looks foolish at a ball.

You should have put the saddle on the bounder in the crush;
A snorting, wheeling brute like that is bound to break away.
Come on, young Teddy, look alive, and sling me up that brush,
We want to get to Wilga Town and not stop here all day.

That's mine -- that cloth -- excuse me! No, I haven't got a strap! --
I haven't time to comb your tail, old girl, that mud must stay! --
Heigh! look at Johnny's chestnut! Stick to him, Jack, old chap!
Good riding without kneepads! But, come on, let's get away !

Cut down, Joe, swing that gate for him! Have you got matches, Ted?
All right, I'm ready! Let 'em rip! Now, Bess, don't play the clown!
A start at last, and goodness knows what time we'll get to bed!
What price the whisky and the girls! All clear for Wilga Town!

Don't fret that blushing chestnut, Joe; come round and ride this side;
And, Jack, by Jove, you watch him, or he'll catch you napping yet! --
Oh, here's that flaming slut of mine -- I thought I left her tied!
Go home, you silly beggar! Go home, you rubbish, Jet!

Now, Jack, game for a canter! Sit hack, and ram the spurs:
I think the buck's all out of him; the colt's as right as rain!
I wish this jolly mare of mine would drop that prance of hers;
l'll race the next best cuddy to that liguum on the plain!

Well, just half a length you did me, but you sneaked a bit of start,
And if the little mare was fit she'd lose your long-legged brown!
Look at that clumsy chestnut; Jack will land home in a cart!
Ho! lights among the timber! Let 'em rip for Wilga Town !

First published in The Bulletin, 30 March 1905

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on March 30, 2011 7:36 AM.

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