Pickaway.

"But I do it! It revolts me, but I do it." —Mikado.

Air—"Mandalay."

On the old clay patch at Kelburne
Looking eastward to the sea,
There's a tennis court wants fixing,
And it's there you ought to be;
For the Council's got no money
So it's thus we pay our way—
Can't you hear old Dixon calling,
"Come and graft on Saturday!"

Chorus —
On the Salamanca road
While the dray tips up its load,
Can't you hear the shovels scraping
And the swung pickaxes play?
On the Salamanca road,
Where hard labour's a la mode,
You can see the navvies doing time
On every Saturday.

And the Council came approving,
And the Profs. they raised a team;
And the Premier as we cheered him,
Struck a monetary seam;
And with a smile and a shovel
Unearthed six thousand pounds;
So all things went on gaily
In the Salamanca grounds.

No place for cuffs and collars,
And your boots needn't be too clean;
What you want are hob-nailed bluchers,
And sundry togs that "have been";
For Bothamley's not supervisor,
And we haven't come here on parade,
And a pick and long-handled shovel
Constitute our stock-in-trade.

page 24

So whether you're Arts or Science,
Or a gentleman at large;
Whether lank or lean or sturdy
We won't give you in charge,
So long as you raise a blister,
So long as you earn your salt,
On the old clay patch at Kelburne.
Till the whistle goes for "Halt!"