With Apologies To Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ("The Village Blacksmith") Under The Spreading Deficit, The Fitzroy Smithy Stands; The Smith, A Spendthrift Man Is He, With Too Much On His Hands; But The Muscles Of His Brawny Jaw Are Strong As Iron Bands. Pay Out, Pay Put, From Morn Till Night, You Can Hear The Sovereigns Go; Or You'll Hear Him Singing "Old Folks At Home", In A Deep Bass Voice And Slow, Like A Bullfrog Down In The Village Well When The Evening Sun Is Low. The Australian Going "Home" For Loans Looks In At The Open Door; He Loves To See The Imported Plant, And To Hear The Furnace Roar, And To Watch The Private Firms Smash Up Like Chaff On The Threshing-Floor. Toiling, Rejoicing, Borrowing, Onward Through Life He Goes; Each Morning Sees Some Scheme Begun That Never Sees Its Close. Something Unpaid For, Someone Done, Has Earned A Night'S Repose.