The Dying Stockman

(Air: The Old Stable Jacket.)     A strapping young stockman lay dying,         His saddle supporting his head;     His two mates around him were crying,         As he rose on his pillow and said:                                 Chorus          Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket,              And bury me deep down below,          Where the dingoes and crows cant molest me,              In the shade where the coolibahs grow.     Oh! had I the flight of the bronzewing,         Far oer the plains would I fly,     Straight to the land of my childhood,         And there would I lay down and die.                     Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.     Then cut down a couple of saplings,         Place one at my head and my toe,     Carve on them cross, stockwhip, and saddle,         To show theres a stockman below.                     Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.     Hark! theres the wail of a dingo,         Watchful and weirdI must go,     For it tolls the death-knell of the stockman         From the gloom of the scrub down below.                     Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.     Theres tea in the battered old billy;         Place the pannikins out in a row,     And well drink to the next merry meeting,         In the place where all good fellows go.                     Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.     And oft in the shades of the twilight,         When the soft winds are whispering low,     And the darkning shadows are falling,         Sometimes think of the stockman below.                  Chorus: Wrap me up, &c.