Analysis of The Boss's Boots
Henry Lawson 1867 (Grenfell) – 1922 (Sydney)
The Shearers squint along the pens, they squint along the ‘shoots;’
The shearers squint along the board to catch the Boss’s boots;
They have no time to straighten up, they have no time to stare,
But when the Boss is looking on, they like to be aware.
The ‘rouser’ has no soul to save. Condemn the rouseabout!
And sling ’em in, and rip ’em through, and get the bell-sheep out ;
And skim it by the tips at times, or take it with the roots—
But ‘pink’ ’em nice and pretty when you see the Boss’s boots.
The shearing super sprained his foot, as bosses sometimes do—
And wore, until the shed cut out, one ‘side-spring’ and one shoe;
And though he changed his pants at times—some worn-out and some neat—
No ‘tiger’ there could possibly mistake the Boss’s feet.
The Boss affected larger boots than many Western men,
And Jim the Ringer swore the shoe was half as big again;
And tigers might have heard the boss ere any harm was done—
For when he passed it was a sort of dot and carry one.
But now there comes a picker-up who sprained his ankle, too,
And limping round the shed he found the Boss’s cast-off shoe.
He went to work, all legs and arms, as green-hand rousers will,
And never dreamed of Boss’s boots—much less of Bogan Bill.
Ye sons of sin that tramp and shear in hot and dusty scrubs,
Just keep away from ‘headin’ ’em,’ and keep away from pubs,
And keep away from handicaps—for so your sugar scoots—
And you may own a station yet and wear the Boss’s boots.
And Bogan by his mate was heard to mutter through his hair:
‘The Boss has got a rat to-day: he’s buckin’ everywhere—
‘He’s trainin’ for a bike, I think, the way he comes an’ scoots,
‘He’s like a bloomin’ cat on mud the way he shifts his boots.’
Now Bogan Bill was shearing rough and chanced to cut a teat ;
He stuck his leg in front at once, and slewed the ewe a bit;
He hurried up to get her through, when, close beside his shoot,
He saw a large and ancient shoe, in mateship with a boot.
He thought that he’d be fined all right—he couldn’t turn the ‘yoe;’
The more he wished the boss away, the more he wouldn’t go;
And Bogan swore amenfully—beneath his breath he swore—
And he was never known to ‘pink’ so prettily before.
And Bogan through his bristling scalp in his mind’s eye could trace,
The cold, sarcastic smile that lurked about the Boss’s face;
He cursed him with a silent curse in language known to few,
He cursed him from his boot right up, and then down to his shoe.
But while he shore so mighty clean, and while he screened the teat,
He fancied there was something wrong about the Boss’s feet:
The boot grew unfamiliar, and the odd shoe seemed awry,
And slowly up the trouser went the tail of Bogan’s eye,
Then swiftly to the features from a plaited green-hide belt—
You’d have to ring a shed or two to feel as Bogan felt—
For ’twas his green-hand picker-up (who wore a vacant look),
And Bogan saw the Boss outside consulting with his cook.
And Bogan Bill was hurt and mad to see that rouseabout
And Bogan laid his ‘Wolseley’ down and knocked that rouser out;
He knocked him right across the board, he tumbled through the shoot—
‘I’ll learn the fool,’ said Bogan Bill, ‘to flash the Boss’s boot!’
The rouser squints along the pens, he squints along the shoots,
And gives his men the office when they miss the Boss’s boots.
They have no time to straighten up, they’re too well-bred to stare,
But when the Boss is looking on they like to be aware.
The rouser has no soul to lose—it’s blarst the rouseabout!
And rip ’em through and yell for ‘tar’ and get the bell-sheep out,
And take it with the scum at times or take it with the roots,—
But ‘pink’ ’em nice and pretty when you see the Boss’s boots.
Scheme | aabBccaA cdcc eeff cdgg axaa bbaa cccc hhii jjdd cckk ccll cccc aabB ccaA |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 0110101110101 011010111011 11111101111111 11011101111101 010111110101 01100111010111 01110111111101 1111010111011 01010111110011 01010111111011 01111111111011 1101110001011 01010101110101 01010101111101 01011101110111 11111101110101 11110101111101 0101011101111 1111110111111 0101111111101 11111101010101 1101111010111 0101110111101 0111010101011 01011111110111 011101111110 1110111011111 1101111011111 11011101011101 11110111010101 11011101110111 1101010101101 1111111111101 0111010101111 01011011111 011101111101 010111001011111 0101011101011 11110101010111 11111111011111 11111101011101 1101110101011 0110100011101 0101010101111 11010101010111 11110111111101 11111101110101 01010111010111 010111011111 0101111011101 11110101110101 1101110111011 01010101110101 0111010111011 11111101111111 11011101111101 010111111101 01110111010111 01110111111101 1111010111011 |
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 3,797 |
Words | 700 |
Sentences | 20 |
Stanzas | 14 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 60 |
Letters per line (avg) | 47 |
Words per line (avg) | 12 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 200 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 50 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:30 min read
- 49 Views
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"The Boss's Boots" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/17959/the-boss%27s-boots>.
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