Too Old to Rat
Or, The Old Unionist
Henry Lawson, 1912
I don't care if the cause be wrong.
Or if the cause be right
I've had my day and sung my song,
And fought the bitter fight.
In truth, at times I can't tell what
The men are driving at,
But I've been Union thirty years,
And I'm too old to rat.
Maybe, at times in those old days
Remembered now by few,
We did bite OR in various ways
Much more than we could chew
We paid, in sodden strikers' camps
Upon the black-soil flat;
We paid, in long and hungry tramps
And I'm too old to rat.
The Queensland strike in Eighty-nine,
And Ninety's gloomy days
The day the opera comp'ny sang
For us the "Marseillaise",
The sea of faces stern and set,
The waiting "bitter cup",
The hopeless hearts, unbeaten yet,
The storm cloud rushing up.
The fighting, dying Boomerang
Against the daily Press;
The infant Worker holding out;
The families in distress;
The sudden tears of beaten men
Oh! you remember that!
Are memories that make my pen
Not worth its while to rat.
I've wept with them in strikers' camps
Where shivered man and beast;
I've worn since then the badge of men,
Of Hell! and London East!
White faces by the flaring torch!
Wraith wives! the slaves of Fat!
And ragged children in the rain
Yes! I'm too old to rat!
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