SONG S.
Hub
Van Dieman’s Land.
Come all you gallant poachers, that ramble void
of care, i£un and snare,
That walk out on a moonlight night with your
The hare and lofty pheasant you have at your
command, * (man's Land.
Notthinking cf your last career upon Van Die-
t-!»‘j
Poor Thomas Brown, from Nottingham Jack
Williams and poor Joe, (well doth know.
Were three determin d poachers as the country
At night they were trepann'd by the keepers hid
in sand,
snc for fourteen years transported were upon
Van Dieman’s Land-
itae Hrst day that we landed upon the fatfd shr..-,
Eie planters came around u*—there might *6
^eatv score;—