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SONGS
Van Dieman's Land.
Come all you gallant poachers, that ramble void of care,
That walk out on a moonlight night with your dog. gun and snare,
The hare and lofty pheasant you have at your command,
Not thinking of your last career upon Van Dieman's Land
Poor Thomas Brown from Nottingham Jack Williams and poor Joe,
Were three determin d poachers as the country well doth know.
At night they were trepann'd by the keepers hid in sand,
and for fourteen years transported were upon Van Dieman's Land.
The first day that we landed upon the fatal ⟨shore⟩,
The planters came around us—there might be ⟨twenty⟩ score;———
