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Musings in Maoriland

The Printer's Stick. — (A Typographical Lyric.)

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The Printer's Stick.
(A Typographical Lyric.)

Let followers of Carnage blow
Of Mitrailleuse and Chassepot,
And brag of all the deeds they've done
With Armstrong and with needle gun;
But we've a stronger weapon far
To wield in Freedom's noble war.
With it, my lads, the foe we'll chase,
Each comp. can well defend his case.
    The printer's rifle is his stick.
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!

Our watchword is, "The people's good,"
We fight for that, yet spill no blood;
Our banners broad, of black and white,

page 349

Make tyrants tremble with affright,
We break in twain Oppression's rod,
The people's foes we place in guad,
Designing tools and factious knaves
Must soon become our galley slaves.
    The printer's rifle is his stick,
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!

Should fierce invaders dare to storm
Our hearths and homes, each printer's form
In steady columns, firm and grand,
Would guard our dear adopted land;
In Freedom's fight we do not join
For power, or place, or paltry quoin,
For battle we are always ripe,
With leaders of the proper type.
    The printer's rifle is his stick.
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!

Privation cannot make us fly,
For, lads, we're never short of pye,
And if we should get full of that,
At chapel we can pray for fat,

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We typos are a jolly set,
We always take what we can get,
The printer's soul knows no despair,
Although his frame is sometimes bare.
    The printer's rifle is his stick,
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!

Unto the people we dispense
A precious lot of solid sense;
When public spouters (do not laugh)
Are pumped by our reporting staff,
And often when the "Ouse" divides,
We jeff for our respective sides;
Some public heads, obtuse and thick,
Are softened by the printer's stick!
    The printer's rifle is his stick,
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!

Then shout, lads, for the weapon bold,
That shields the helpless, weak, and old,
Who dares refuse will be knocked down,
We'll make him shout, or smash his crown;
Press onward in the cause of Right,

page 351

The "Voice and Pen" mould Freedom's light,
They form the candle and the wick,
But still the printer holds the stick!
    The printer's rifle is his stick,
    We load it with a click, click, click,
    Metal true is the shot we pick,
    Hurrah, hurrah, for the printer's stick!