*The Squire*

Sir John of the Isles, 'E stood on 'is lands, An' looked round 'is large estates: The lands of waste, an' the lands of corn; The rose-clad lands, an' the lands of thorn; An' 'is many gun guarded gates.

Sir John of the Isles, 'E sez to T.A., 'E sez to T.A., sez 'e, 'Oh, you an' your chum, the sailor-man, Must scour the country as far as you can For you are gamekeepers to me.'

Sir John of the Isles, 'E sez to the swells-- The Downing Street frock-coated crew-- 'You are stewards of mine, on Colonial land, An' my tenants, with seventeen guns an' a band, Shall pay their respects unto you!'

Sez John of the Isles To one of the swells, 'Near the lands where you're goin' to Be Is the dusty estate of a crotchety cuss, 'Oo from time to time causes a great deal of fuss, For 'e thinks 'e's better nor me.'

Sez John of the Isles, 'The tenants 'e rules Are a very peculiar lot. 'Is bailifs are 'Ollanders, chock full of guile, An' they run the estate in a Guy-foxy style. Which is Dynamite, Treason and Plot!'

Sez John of the Isles, 'Don't mind 'is remarks, For the land which is 'is--it was mine; But 'e took it to Law in a court rather grim, An' a kopje-'id jury decided for 'im! An' awarded the land as a fine.'

Sir John of the Isles, 'E sez to the swell, 'You're a gentleman, breedin' an birth, An' in case of a row, without losin' your 'ead, You may take my gamekeepers, an' mark 'is land red! On the survey-map of the Earth!'