Lyrics:
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Come all you gallant poachers,
That ramble void of care,
That walk out on a moonlight night
With dog and gun and snare.
That hare and lofty pheasant
You have at your command,
Not thinking of your last career
Upon Van Dieman's land.
Poor Thomas Brown from Nenagh town
Jack Murphy and poorJoe,
Were three determined poachers
As the country well does know,
By the keepers of the land, my boys,
One night we were trepanned,
And for fourteen years transported
Unto Van Dieman's land.
The first day that we landed
Upon that fateful shore,
The planters came around us,
They might be twenty score.
They ranked us off like horses
And sold us out of hand,
And yoked us to the plough, brave boys,
To plough Van Dieman's Land.
The cottages we live in
Are built with sods of clay,
We have rotten straw for bedding
But we dare not say nay,
Our cots we fence with firing
And slumber when we can
To keep the wolves and tigers
From us in Van Dieman's Land.
Oft times when I do slumber
I have a pleasant dream,
With my sweet girl sitting near me
Close to a purling stream.
I am roaming through old Ireland
With my true love by the hand
But awaken broken-hearted
Upon Van Dieman's Land.
God bless our wives and families,
Likewise that happy shore,
That isle of sweet contentment
Which we shall see no more;
As for the wretched females,
See them we seldom can,
There are fourteen men to every woman
In Van Dieman's Land.
But fourteen years is a long time,
That is our fatal doom,
For nothing else but poaching
For that is all we done.
You would leave off both dog and gun
And poaching, every man,
If you knew the hardship
That's in Van Dieman's Land.
Oh, if I had a thousand pounds
All laid out in my hand,
I'd give it all for liberty
If that I could command;
Once more to Ireland I'd return,
And be a happy man,
And bid adieu to poaching
And to Van Dieman's Land.
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