In the Stable by Andrew Barton Paterson — Read

What! You don't like him; well, maybe -- we all have our fancies, of course: / Brumby to look at you reckon? Well, no: he's a thoroughbred horse; / Sired by a son of old Panic -- look at his ears and his head -- / Lop-eared and Roman-nosed, ain't he? -- well, that's how the Panics are bred. / Gluttonous, ugly and lazy, rough as a tip-cart to ride, / Yet if you offered a sovereign apiece for the hairs on his hide / That wouldn't buy him, nor twice that; while I've a pound to the good, / This here old stager stays by me and lives like a thoroughbred should: / Hunt him away from his bedding, and sit yourself down by the wall, / Till you hear how the old fellow saved me from Gilbert, O'Maley and Hall.

Gilbert and Hall and O'Maley, back in the bushranging days, / Made themselves kings of the district -- ruled it in old-fashioned ways -- / Robbing the coach and the escort, stealing our horses at night, / Calling sometimes at the homesteads and giving the women a fright: / Came to the station one morning -- and why they did this no one knows -- / Took a brood mare from the paddock -- wanting some fun, I suppose -- / Fastened a bucket beneath her, hung by a strap round her flank, / Then turned her loose in the timber back of the seven-mile tank.