Beware of the critic who tells you the handicap's absolute rot,
For this is chucked in, and that's hopeless, and somebody ought to be shot.
How is it he can't make a fortune himself when he knows such a lot?

From tipsters, and jockeys, and trials, and gallops, the glory has gone,
For this is the wisdom of Hafiz that sages have pondered upon,
"The very best tip in the world is to see the commission go on!"




Saltbush Bill, J.P.



Beyond the land where Leichhardt went,
Beyond Sturt's Western track,
The rolling tide of change has sent
Some strange J.P.s out back.

And Saltbush Bill, grown old and grey,
And worn with want of sleep,
Received the news in camp one day
Behind the travelling sheep

That Edward Rex, confiding in
His known integrity,
By hand and seal on parchment skin
Had made him a J.P.