Hark! Hark! the dogs are barking, I can no longer stay;
The boys have all gone shearing, so I heard the shepherd say;
So I must be off in the morning, love, though it's many a weary mile,
To meet the Victorian shearers on the banks of Riverine.
"Oh, Willie, dearest Willie, you know you should not go,
For if you leave me here, love, my heart will break in two;
The parting from you, Willie, is like parting with my life -
Go and be a selector, love, and I will be your wife."
Oh, Nancy, loving Nancy, you know that I must go,
The squatters they expect me their shearing for to do,
And when I'm on the Yanco, love, I'll think of you with pride,
And my shears they will go freely when I'm on the whipping side.
"Oh, Willie, dearest Willie, I'll go along with you;
I'll dress myself in male attire, and be a shearer too;
I'll shear and keep your tally, my love, and a ringer you will shine,
And I'll wash your greasy breeches on the banks of Riverine."
Oh, Nancy, lovely Nancy, you know you cannot go,
The squatters have given orders "no women shall do so;"
Besides, your delicate stomach, love, is not equal unto mine,
To digest the ram-stag mutton on the banks of Riverine.
And when the shearing's over, love, I'll make you my dear wife;
We'll go and get married, love, and settle down for life;
And, when the day's work's over, love, in the evenings calm and fine,
I'll tell you of those sandy cobblers on the banks of Riverine.
