6
You've left the land, and where, none know nor care
Stop where you are, 'twill be Australia's gain
Your pension pilfer, don't come back again.—
What modern Œdipus the riddle solves
That riddle on whose con the weight devolves,
To raise or lower the steelyard of the state
To ink to Zero or to raise it Great:—
Cold sweats 'tis said reduced him two stone less
Since Cowper's motion plunged him in a mess—
Had he but kept to cutlets and small beer
With tongue fast fettered, he had nought to fear
But mad ambition and the greed for gain
Have proved at once his antidote and bane—
He too be pensioned for his work and worth,
Of such live stock may Sydney have a dearth—
A wondrous digit is that number nine;
In mystic circle or the magic line
Others than Wizard of the North divine
That 6 inverted still is number nine;
But when applied to bonded eau de vie
A light clears up a seeming mystery,
'Tis true yet strange that wonders never cease
From herbe of Holloway to Bruin's grease
The simples' virtue and the pure supply
Like statesman Riddle, turn out "all my eye,"
And "Betty Martin" Martin great in song—
Who solved this riddle?—Profits Dan and Long.
The cork is drawn the Treasurer's bottled lore
Now pours in bumpers from his cellar'd store
Old classic cribs are conjured from the dust
But countless folios won't remove the rust,
Spell, Spout, and splutter for your hireling clan
Your peroration ends where you began——
Haste dummy Stirling quick your harness doff
Ere upstart Denison should lug it off
(But little wisdom Downing-street I fear
Translates this quondum Gaoler-General here
