Come! all ye lads of loyalty,
and listen to my tale;
A story of bushranging days,
I will to you unveil,
'Tis of those gallant heroes,
God bless them one and all,
And we'll sit and sing "God save the King,
Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall."
To see the mounted troopers
Scouring the bush,
Like diggers in the olden times,
Hasting to a rush.
But those bushranging heroes
They do deceive them all,
There's one thousand pounds, alive or dead,
For Dunn, Gilbert, or Ben Hall.
As Ben was riding out one day,
His trade being rather slack,
By private information
The troops got on his track,
Saying, "Hall, you are my prisoner,
Surrender unto me,"
And Ben bolted from his saddle
And climbed up in a tree.
With rage and disappointment
The troopers cursed and swore;
They moped and poked about the bush,
And tracked him o'er and o'er.
They kept the watch till daylight,
And no Ben could be found.
At length they saw his cabbage-tree
A-lying on the ground.
Then away goes eight or ten of them,
Like so many yelping curs,
To capture bold Morgan,
In his shining boots and spurs;
But the horses, they knocked up at last,
He cannot captured be;
They turned back from a fruitless chase,
And Morgan still is free.
The troopers now, in latter days,
They're only paper men,
Not like the mounted heroes
We had in thirty-nine.
But a man that's carrying on the road
Is taken from his dray,
With a pair of bracelets on his wrists,
He's captured - led away.
So now my song is ended,
I think I will resign,
We'll toast those gallant heroes
In a glass of sparkling wine.
We'll give them three times three, my boys,
We'll toast them one and all,
And we'll sit and sing "Long live the Queen,
Dunn, Gilbert, and Ben Hall."
