X. ‘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).