And Judges lounge in a liquor shop
While Dean and Adams's pistols pop?
Where Justice is but a shrivelled ghost
As deaf and blind as a stockyard post,
And License sits upon Freedom's chair—
Oh, say, dear mother, can it be there?
"Not there—not there, my child."
Is it on the banks of the wild Paroo,
Where the emu stalks, and the kangaroo
Bounds o'er the sand-hills free and light,