'After the Quarrel'
Laurence Raby’s Chamber. Laurence enters, a little the worse for liquor.
He never gave me a chance to speak,
And he call’d her—worse than a dog—
The girl stood up with a crimson cheek,
And I fell’d him there like a log.
I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet—
He feels it more on his brow.
In a thousand years we shall all forget
The things that trouble us now.
Published in 'Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes' (1870).