<h2> Shearing at Castlereagh </h2>
<p>The bell is set a-ringing, and the engine gives a toot,<br/>
There's five and thirty shearers here are shearing for the loot,<br/>
So stir yourselves, you penners-up, and shove the sheep along,<br/>
The musterers are fetching them a hundred thousand strong,<br/>
And make your collie dogs speak up — what would the buyers say<br/>
In London if the wool was late this year from Castlereagh?<br/>
<br/>
The man that 'rung' the Tubbo shed is not the ringer here,<br/>
That stripling from the Cooma side can teach him how to shear.<br/>
They trim away the ragged locks, and rip the cutter goes,<br/>
And leaves a track of snowy fleece from brisket to the nose;<br/>
It's lovely how they peel it off with never stop nor stay,<br/>
They're racing for the ringer's place this year at Castlereagh.<br/>
<br/>
The man that keeps the cutters sharp is growling in his cage,<br/>
He's always in a hurry and he's always in a rage —<br/>
'You clumsy-fisted mutton-heads, you'd turn a fellow sick,<br/>
You pass yourselves as shearers, you were born to swing a pick.<br/>
Another broken cutter here, that's two you've broke to-day,<br/>
It's awful how such crawlers come to shear at Castlereagh.'<br/>
<br/>
The youngsters picking up the fleece enjoy the merry din,<br/>
They throw the classer up the fleece, he throws it to the bin;<br/>
The pressers standing by the rack are waiting for the wool,<br/>
There's room for just a couple more, the press is nearly full;<br/>
Now jump upon the lever, lads, and heave and heave away,<br/>
Another bale of golden fleece is branded 'Castlereagh'.<br/></p>
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