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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
A hard old rusticated clam
Was bound’ry-rider Slimy Sam,
He lived alone
On Mumblebone,
An’ couldn’t read or even tell
A T from L.
As his pet name insinuates,
He wasn’t one as speculates
In soap an’ scent,
Or ever went
To any superfine shivoo,
Like me an’ you.
Well, this ’ere Sam one day returned
To where his humble camp-fire burned,
An’ found some talk,
In glarin’ chalk,
So big it spread from top to floor,
Writ on his door.
Some urgent message from the boss,
He thought it was, an’ at a loss
What else to do,
He turned him to
An’ took the door with all its fringes
Off its hinges
With utmost care he gripped it, and
Five miles he humped it overland,
‘Cross stony hills,
O’er ruts an’ rills,
Now on his back, now on his head,
To have it read.
He stood it up in Murphy’s bar,
And shearer-men from near and far
Drew round to see
What it might be,
As Murphy, pullin’ at his chin,
Read with a grin:
“Old Slimy Sam of Mumblebone
“S the dirtiest beggar ever known.”
My eye! when it
Had soaked a bit,
That party felt so mighty sore
He smashed the door.
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