  Herr Mauch’s all well I dare can tell— But don’t you go a digging; The tetse bites, the nigger fights, And thieves are always prigging. The lions growl, the jackals prowl All round about the waggon; And when, poor soul, you seize the bowl, You find an empty flagon. And sleep at night you cannot quite, There’s such an endless squalling; Mosquitos sting, hyenas sing In human laugh-like brawling. The zebras bound o’er shaking ground In many a wild stampedo; The blesbok, too, and sportive gnu, Make noise as much as they do. ’Fore break of day you must away To reach the doubtful water, And if you’re not a steady shot You ne’er a buck will slaughter. So my advice to Greenhands is— Don’t with the goldfields meddle; But stick to steak and Simms’ mild make! And “Smouse” around and “peddle.” And those who go—I hope they know The lingo of the “Doppers;” Their customs too, ’twas well you knew, To shake them by their floppers. With stolid stare, your head to bare, And answer to each query; From whence you hail, to where you sail, And if your mother’s cheery. In Kaffir kraals, look out for squalls; Elope not with the “nieces,” For if you do, the act you’ll rue Amongst the “Makateses.” Mid upper blacks you’ll want an axe, For there there’s more than one tree; And gifts a few you’ll carry to Umziligazi’s country. And now, good-bye, perhaps you’ll try With crowbar, pick, and hammer, To soften down stern Fortune’s frown, And if you can’t, why, d——r. ——Moodie. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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