Billy Vickers

No song is this of leaf and bird,     And gracious waters flowing;     Im sick at heart, for I have heard     Big Billy Vickers blowing.     Hed never take a leading place     In chambers legislative:     This booby with the vacant face     This hoddy-doddy native!     Indeed, Im forced to say aside,     To you, O reader, solely,     He only wants the horns and hide     To be a bullock wholly.     But, like all noodles, he is vain;     And when his tongue is wagging,     I feel inclined to copy Cain,     And drop him for his bragging.     He, being Bush-bred, stands, of course,     Six feet his dirty socks in;     His lingo is confined to horse     And plough, and pig and oxen.     Two years ago hed less to say     Within his little circuit;     But now he has, besides a dray,     A team of twelve to work it.     No wonder is it that he feels     Inclined to clack and rattle     About his bullocks and his wheels     He owns a dozen cattle.     In short, to be exact and blunt,     In his own estimation     Hes out and out the head and front     Top-sawyer of creation!     For, mark me, he can sit a buck     For hours and hours together;     And never horse has had the luck     To pitch him from the leather.     If ever he should have a spill     Upon the grass or gravel,     Be sure of this, the saddle will     With Billy Vickers travel.     At punching oxen you may guess     Theres nothing out can camp him:     He has, in fact, the slouch and dress     Which bullock-driver stamp him.     I do not mean to give offence,     But I have vainly striven     To ferret out the difference     Twixt driver and the driven.     Of course, the statements herein made     In every other stanza     Are Billys own; and Im afraid     Theyre stark extravaganza.     I feel constrained to treat as trash     His noisy fiddle-faddle     About his doings with the lash,     His feats upon the saddle.     But grant he knows his way about,     Or grant that he is silly,     There cannot be the slightest doubt     Of Billys faith in Billy.     Of all the doings of the day     His ignorance is utter;     But he can quote the price of hay,     The current rate of butter.     His notions of our leading men     Are mixed and misty very:     He knows a cochin-china hen     He never speaks of Berry.     As youll assume, he hasnt heard     Of Madame Pattis singing;     But I will stake my solemn word     He knows what maize is bringing.     Surrounded by majestic peaks,     By lordly mountain ranges,     Where highest voice of thunder speaks     His aspect never changes.     The grand Pacific there beyond     His dirty hut is glowing:     He only sees a big salt pond,     Oer which his grain is going.     The sea that covers half the sphere,     With all its stately speeches,     Is held by Bill to be a mere     Broad highway for his peaches.     Through Natures splendid temples he     Plods, under mountains hoary;     But he has not the eyes to see     Their grandeur and their glory.     A bullock in a bipeds boot,     I iterate, is Billy!     He crushes with a careless foot     The touching water-lily.     Ive said enough Ill let him go!     If he could read these verses,     Hed pepper me for hours, I know,     With his peculiar curses.     But this is sure, hell never change     His manners loud and flashy,     Nor learn with neatness to arrange     His clothing, cheap and trashy.     Like other louts, hell jog along,     And swig at shanty liquors,     And chew and spit. Here ends the song     Of Mr. Billy Vickers.