They were all too anxious for the
success of their diggings, to countenance any grumblers against them:
A LAMENT FOR MY THIRTY SHILLINGS,
DEDICATED TO THE ECHUNGA VICTIMS,
My one pound ten! my one pound ten!
I paid as Licence Fee;
Ah! cruel Bonney! pray return,
That one pound ten to me.
When to Echunga diggings first
I hastened up from town,
Thy tent I sought with anxious care
And paid the money down.
And though my folly ever since
I bitterly deplore,
It soothes my mind to know there were
Three scores of fools before.
Then, Bonney, listen to my lay,
And if you wish to thrive,
Send back the money quick to me,
To number sixty-five.
Who wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long,
Had better to Echunga go,
And not to Mount Coorong.
But as for me I like a swag,
At least a little more
Than what we got there in a week -
Eight pennyweights 'mongst four.
For that, of surface earth we washed
Of dray loads half a score;
I'll swear that cradling never seemed
Such tedious work before.
To sink for gold we then commenced,
With grief I must confess,
'Twas fruitless toil, although we went
Down thirty feet or less.
