Henry Lawson, 1893
A shearer tramped from Borderland
When Sunset shed cut out;
He scarcely felt the miles of sand,
The hot plains baked with drought.
His cheque was in his ragged clothes.
The future wore no frown,
When blazing white before him rose
The roofs of Tally Town.
From Tally Town the shearer fled
When Christmas time was past;
His cheeks were drawn, his eyes were red,
His breath came rough and fast;
Along the track he ran and yelled
Till devils struck him down.
The landlord banked the cheques he held
That day in Tally Town.