But now I’m safe returned From the diggins, O! Never more I mean to roam To the diggins, O! It some people’s fortune mends, Much on the man depends-- I’d sooner be here with my friends, Than at the diggins, O! _BOTANY BAY._ COME all you men of learning, And a warning take by me, I would have you quit night walking, And shun bad company. I would have you quit night walking, Or else you’ll rue the day, You’ll rue your transportation, lads, When you’re bound for Botany Bay. I was brought up in London town And a place I know full well, Brought up by honest parents For the truth to you, I’ll tell. Brought up by honest parents, And rear’d most tenderly, Till I became a roving blade, Which proved my destiny. My character soon taken was, And I was sent to jail, My friends they tried to clear me, But nothing could prevail. At the Old Bailey Sessions, The Judge to me did say, “The Jury’s found you guilty, lad, So you must go to Botany Bay.” To see my aged father dear, As he stood near the bar, Likewise my tender mother, Her old grey locks to tear; In tearing of her old grey locks, These words to me did say, “O, Son! O, Son! what have you done, That you’re going to Botany Bay?” It was on the twenty eighth of May, From England we did steer, And, all things being safe on board, We sail’d down the river, clear. And every ship that we pass’d by, We heard the sailors say, “There goes a ship of clever hands, And they’re bound for Botany Bay.” There is a girl in Manchester, A girl I know full well, And if ever I get my liberty, Along with her I’ll dwell. O, then I mean to marry her, And no more to go astray; I’ll shun all evil company, Bid adieu to Botany Bay. _VAN DIEMAN’S LAND._ COME all you gallant poachers, that ramble free from care, That walk out on moonlight nights, with your dog, gun and snare, The jolly hares and pheasants, you have at your command, Not thinking that your last career is to Van Dieman’s Land. Poor Tom Brown from Nottingham, Jack Williams, and poor Joe, We are three daring poachers, the country does well know, At night we are trepanned, by the keepers hid in sand, Who for 14 years transported us unto Van Dieman’s Land. The first day that we landed upon this fatal shore, The planters they came round us, full twenty score or more, They rank’d us up like horses, and sold us out of hand, And yok’d us up to ploughs, my boys, to plough Van Dieman’s Land. Our cottages that we live in, are built of brick and clay, And rotten straw for bedding, and we dare not say nay, Our cots are fenc’d with fire, we slumber when we can, To drive away wolves and tigers (?) upon Van Dieman’s Land.