The Unsuccessful Swell [song by Charles Thatcher, 1857]

[Editor: This song by Charles Thatcher was published in Thatcher’s Colonial Songster, 1857.]

The Unsuccessful Swell.

An Original Song by Chas. R. Thatcher.
Tune — “Bow wow, wow.

I’ll sing now of a fine young swell,
Who in a ship did sail here;
And came and made his fortune,
By digging in Australia.
At least a splendid fortune,
Of course he came to make, sirs;
But found out that instead of that,
He’d made a grand mistake, sirs,
Oh, dear, oh!
Universal emigration’s all the go.

He brought machines for washing gold,
And tools that looked quite funny;
Which he disposed of in the town,
For a good round sum of money.
At least the cash he got for them,
Might have been very great, sirs;
But the fact is they weren’t in demand,
And they didn’t pay for freight, sirs.
Oh, dear, oh, &c.

Like most now chums he soon found out,
His tin was running short, sirs,
So he took his boxes to Rag Fair,
Where things were sold and bought, sirs —
That is, he might have sought that place,
His clothes for cash to barter at,
But Rag Fair you know was done away,
And he didn’t come till after that.
Oh, dear, oh, &c.

He then determined that in town,
No longer he’d remain, sirs;
So off he went to Bendigo,
One morning, by the train, sirs —
But, stop! the railway ain’t begun,
Though of it some folks talk, sirs;
So, as the engine didn’t run,
Why, of course, he had to walk, sirs.
Oh, dear, oh, &c.

He went and got a license,
And most lucky was his fate, sirs,
For from the first hole that he sunk,
He took out twelve pounds weight, sirs —
At least, he didn’t take it out,
Although the gold was there, sirs;
For when he’d sunk about two feet,
He left it in despair, sirs.
Ob, dear, oh, &c.

At length he’d but a shilling left,
And hunger made him plucky,
So he went and sunk another hole,
And that, too, turned out lucky —
That is, to keep him full six months,
Of gold there was enough, sirs;
But like new chums have done before,
Pitched away his washing-stuff, sirs.
Oh, dear, oh, &c.

After staying up there just two months,
And very little making;
Necessity, which licks us all,
Made him go and try stone-breaking.
If through Bacchus Marsh you ever go,
You’ll see him there, don’t doubt it;
But if you don’t, why then you won’t,
And so that’s all about it.
Oh, dear, oh, &c.

Charles R. Thatcher. Thatcher’s Colonial Songster, Containing All the Choice Local Songs, Parodies, &c., of the Celebrated Chas. R. Thatcher, Charlwood & Son, Melbourne, 1857, pages 31-33

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