While The Billy BoilsSearchOne summer day, my faithful steed and I, Jogged wearily along a road out west;And, as the day was hot and we were dry, I sought refreshment at the “Digger's Rest.”The house was with its title quite in keeping,Behind the bar two pigs were soundly sleeping.
I took my lunch, some eggs just newly laid, Corned beef and damper and a cup of tea,Then, while my horse was feeding in the shade, I sat and smoked beneath a myall tree.When, near at hand I heard a dismal droning,Like some afflicted mortal, sadly groaning.
Seeking the cause, I spied an aged man, Whose gaping boots revealed his socks of rag.He sat beside a battered billy-can, And leaned upon a weather-beaten swag."Tell me,” said I, “what mean these sounds of sadness;Are you in pain, or are they signs of madness?”
He touched his hat, and 'twixt his toothless jaws He thrust the remnants of a battered pipe.After a few preliminary draws, He gave his hoary head a careful wipe.Then, when he found his pipe was fairly lighted,The following tale he dolefully recited.
* * * * *"'Tis the pangs of remorse,” said he, "That make me groan so sadly,The source of my woes is the feeling that flows From a conscience stricken badly.
"From the time that I learned to walk, I was always a wicked sinner,I've robbed my old mother, and cheated my brother, And stolen a swagman's dinner.
"And when I became a man, I followed my old career,I've gone through a digger, I've murdered a nigger, And I've stuck up an auctioneer.
"And I wasn't so far away When old Robinson's ricks caught fire.And while he was tearing, and cursing and swearing, I snavelled his horse, 'The Squire.’
"In the palmy days of old, I used to do well at prigging;And I frequently went through a digger's tent, (It was easier work than digging).
"Ah! many's the ounce of gold I have held in this boney fist;But the finest lot, and the biggest pot, Was the blooming lot I missed.
"Jim Jaggers was always known As an unlucky sort of coon,And I peeped in his tent, as past it I went, One Saturday afternoon.
"And I saw Jim was fast asleep, So I let him sleep away,For I thought that in there, there was nothing to spare; So I didn't go in that day.
"But next day at the 'Miner's Arms,’ I heard the story told,That Jimmy was drunk, and hid under his bunk, Were two hundred ounces of gold.
"So I crept to the old camp fire, When I found that the yarn was true,And I cussed at the flames, and I called myself names, And I kicked myself black and blue.
"No, it isn't the things I've done That make me groan and sigh,What troubles me most is the scoop that I lost, And the chance that I let slip by.
"So I never forgives myself, And I'm permanently dejected,And I shivers and starts when my conscience smarts For the chance that I neglected.