Gs [or The Fourth Cook] Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBBCCBBB DDBBB EEFFF GGBBB HHBBB| He has notions of Australia from the tales that he s been told | A |
| Land of leggings and revolvers land of savages and gold | A |
| So he begs old shirts and someone patches up his worn out duds | B |
| He is shipped as general servant scrubbing pots and peeling spuds | B |
| In the steamer s grimy alley hating man and peeling spuds | B |
| There is little time to comfort there is little time to cry | C |
| He will come back with a fortune We ll be happy by and by | C |
| Scarcely time to kiss his sweetheart barely time to change his duds | B |
| Ere they want him at the galley and they set him peeling spuds | B |
| With a butcher s knife a bucket and say half a ton of spuds | B |
| - | |
| And he peels em hard to Plymouth peels em fast to drown his grief | D |
| Peels em while his stomach sickens on the road to Teneriffe | D |
| Peels em while the donkey rattles peels em while the engine thuds | B |
| By the time they touch at Cape Town he s a don at peeling spuds | B |
| And he finds some time for dreaming as he gets on with the spuds | B |
| - | |
| In the steamer s slushy alley where the souls of men are dead | E |
| And the adjectives are crimson if the substances are red | E |
| He s perhaps a college black sheep and maybe of ancient blood | F |
| Ah his devil grips him sometimes as he reaches for a spud | F |
| And he jerks his head and sadly gouges dry rot from a spud | F |
| - | |
| And his brave heart hopes and sickens as the weary days go round | G |
| There is lots o time for blue lights ere they reach King George s Sound | G |
| But he gets his best suit ready two white shirts and three bone studs | B |
| He will face the new world bravely when he s finished with the spuds | B |
| And next week perhaps he ll gladly take a job at peeling spuds | B |
| - | |
| There were heroes in Australia went exploring long ago | H |
| There are heroes in Australia that the world shall never know | H |
| And the men we use for heroes in the land of droughts and floods | B |
| Often win their way to Sydney scrubbing pots and peeling spuds | B |
| Plucky beggars brave poor devils gouging dry rot from their spuds | B |
Henry Lawson
(1)
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Gs [or The Fourth Cook] is a poem by Henry Lawson. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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