The Poetry Corner

A Poor Joke

By Edward Dyson

No, you cant count me in, boys; Im off it, Im jack of them practical jokes; They give neither pleasure nor profit, And the fellers that plays them are mokes. Ive got sense, though I once was a duffer, And I fooled up my share, I allow, But since conscience has made me to suffer, Shes pegging away at me now. You notice Ive aged rather early, And the wrinkles are deep on my face? Thats sorrer,Im sixty-nine, barely. Jes camp, and Ill tell you my case. It was here on The Springs, we had hit it, And we working the lead on this spot, And we were, to my shame I admit it, A rather unprincipled lot. We were drunk all the day on the Sundays, No wickeder habit exists; And our exercise mostly on Mondays Was feats of endurance with fists. See, the wash wasnt what wed call wealthy, Ten pennyweight stuff, thereabout, And we took matters easy and healthy; Now wed rush for the same, Ive no doubt. Well, one morning, from over the border Two Mongols moved inter the camp, Which we voted a thing out of order, The climate for Chows was too damp. But it happened a couple of troopers Arrived on The Springs that same week, So the Chinks, in their opium stupors, Didnt wander down inter the creek, Or get drowned in the dam at The Crescent, As we reckoned might happen somehow; But they settled down, easy and pleasant, And there wasnt the smell of a row. Howsomever, we werent long twigging The Chows were an ignerent pair, And knew nothin at all about digging And that was our chance to get square. It was cording to Bastows directions, Though I volunteered for the game, To ensnare their Mongolian affections, And lay them right on to a claim Round the bend where wed bottomed a duffer, Myself and Pat Foley,right there, Where the sinking is deep and is tougher Than the hobs of Gehenna, I swear. That shaft was a regular clinker, Which it riles me to think of to-day. Quite a fortnight it took us to sink her, And then we came through on the clay, Not the ghost of a handful of gravel. Well, we dropped it without any fuss, On the hill pegged the best we could snavel, And the devil could prospect, for us. But the Pagans were not a bit wiser, And I counted it pretty fair game To appear as their friend and adviser, And induce them to take up that claim, By a-cracking the lay and position Sos to get them to sink on the clay, Till they struck a hot shop in Perdition Or tapped water in Europe some day. But the heathens were mighty suspicious, Wouldnt have it I cared for their sakes, Here, I state that all Chinkies are vicious And I hate them like fever and snakes. Then I tried a new system of dealing, And offered advice at a fee, And they caught on like winking. Fine feeling Is wasted on any Chinee. So they pegged out our cast-off, the duffer. Their rights they had made out exact, And Ah Kit, who was boss, wouldnt suffer Any little neglect of the Act: And I put in their pegs to a fraction, As grave as a brick on a hob, Rigged up things to their full satisfaction, And charged them five quid for the job. Well, the heathens soon set their picks going, And they seemed rather fond of the graft, Though the boys had had trouble in stowing A heap of dead things in the shaft, And we chuckled and thought we had got em: I knew I could tickle the pair To keep sinking on inter the bottom For gravel that never was there. Next night a most harrowing rumour Went round, and the camp was half daft: It was said that a nugget,a boomer, Had been found by the Chows in our shaft. Point of fact, that the Pagans had struck it, Had knocked down a sample of wash That looked good for a pound to the bucket, And our joke had gone hopelessly squash. It was crect, boys, by all that is holy! Wed struck a false bottom, no doubt, And the fortune of self and of Foley Was scooped by Ah Kit and Ah Gout. We resolved that these Chinese were sapping The wealth of the land, and agreed On a project for catching them napping When the troopers rode on to the lead. Yes, we scrambled for claims all around em, And we made the foam fly for a week, But the Chows had the gilt edge. Confound em, Theyd lobbed right on top of the streak! No, your joke, boys, I reckon is risky, And somewhat ridiclus, I think, But Im with you for friendship and whiskey If one of you orders the drink.