To A Hatpeg

Theres a nice little hatpeg that hangs on the wall     That long from its owner has parted,     And though he is wandering far beyond call     Like him it is always true hearted.     Many seasons have passed since his limp Cabbage Tree     Has dangled upon the old rack     But that one single peg, always vacant must be,     For its owner will surely come back.     And though in far countries, he sadly doth roam     While hunger had forced him to beg     Till fortune grows kindly, and sends him back home,     Theres an Angel who watches that peg.     One afternoon, after a long weary tramp,     And hard grafting, to which hes no stranger,     He found, that a letter, had come to the camp,     To warn him, his peg was in danger;     The words that he used, are best shown by a dash     As he swore that no rival hed brook,     Said he my fine fellow Ill settle your hash     As the first train to Cooma he took.     When he came to that town, he bought pistols and knives,     And a sword, with a long shiny blade,     Youd have thought that his rival, had two or three lives,     By the fierce preparations he made;     He bought a chaffcutter, an axe and a saw     With a coffin, lined neatly with satin,     Such a beautiful coffin was neer seen before,     With a pious inscription in Latin     A hammerless gun, that went off at a touch,     Of green cartridges nearly a keg.     Said he When Ive used them, there wont remain much,     Of the man with designs on my peg.     Then he planted himself, till his rival came by.     From the weapons he made a selection,     Quoth he When he comes I shall certainly try,     And give him the warmest reception.     So as the bold stripling, came singing along,     The Exile, sprang out from his lair,     While his rival soon warbled a different song     (Twas less of a song, than a prayer)     Then he shot him with axes, and chopped him with guns,     Till his state, was so utterly utter,     When the Exile, collects all the pieces, and runs     The remnants right through the chaffcutter,     He turns at the handle, with feelings of joy,     And as he put through the last leg,     Quoth he, this is how I shall treat any boy,     Who dares hang his hat (alt: to lay hands) on my peg,     Then he shut down the coffin, well pleased to be rid,     Of the youth, who got terribly mauled, for     The sake of a hat peg, Then tacked on the lid     A label, Please keep until called for,     Read these verses, sweet youth! for a moral lies there     Tis short, not much more than a line,     At Rosedale, are plenty of pegs and to spare,     Dont hang up your hat upon mine,