So they write to confess, and they write in distress, And each letter increases the gloom;For I didn't let on that on different nights There were two bottles pinched from my room.
Well, a mate's but a man who is fighting his fate, And a crook has his sorrow and grief;So the mate I'll forgive for the sake of a mate, And the thief for the sake of a thief.
And I'll let the Gallipoli Strollers go free To pile up the takings (or bolt);All players and strollers have had claims on me Since the generous days of Bland Holt.
Sources, publication & text notesReference details
Canonical recordPOEM-000307
Copy-textLawson corpus evidence graph; selected complete copy-text with independently corroborated wording and retained line/stanza boundaries; selected copy-text retained exactly under D-180/D-208
While The Billy BoilsSearch