The Fact of the Matter (also known as 'The drovers in reply') is a poem by prolific Australian writer and poet Edward Dyson (1865–1931). It was first published in The Bulletin magazine on 30 July 1892 in reply to fellow poets Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson. This poem formed part of the Bulletin Debate, a series of poems by Lawson, Paterson, and others, about the true nature of life in the Australian bush. Background In 'Up The Country' (9 July 1892) Lawson had criticised 'city bushmen' such as Banjo Paterson who tended to romanticise bush life. Paterson, in turn, in 'In Defence of the Bush' (23 July 1892) accused Lawson of representing bush life as nothing but doom and gloom. Dyson, who grew up in Ballarat, Victoria, working from an early age in the mines and on the land before moving to Melbourne, sided with Lawson, expressing the view that those who glorified country life should go and live there. Original version The four-line ten-stanza poem, making reference to some of Paterson's own phrases, first appeared as: I’m wonderin' why those fellers who go buildin' chipper ditties, 'Bout the rosy times out drovin', an' the dust an' death of cities, Don't sling the bloomin' office, strike some drover for a billet, And soak up all the glory that comes handy while they fill it. P’r’aps it’s fun to travel cattle or to picnic with merinos, But the drover don’t catch on, sir, not much high-class rapture he knows. As for sleepin' on the plains there in the shadder of the spear-grass, That’s liked best by the Juggins with a spring-bed an' a pier-glass. An' the camp fire, an' the freedom, and the blanky constellations, The 'possum-rug an' billy, an' the togs an' stale ole rations— It’s strange they’re only raved about by coves that dress up pretty, An' sport a wife, an' live on slap-up tucker in the city. I’ve tickled beef in my time clear from Clarke to Riverina, An' shifted sheep all round the shop, but blow me if I’ve seen a Single blanky hand who didn’t buck at pleasures of this kidney, And wouldn’t trade his blisses for a flutter down in Sydney. Night-watches are delightful when the stars are really splendid To the chap who’s fresh upon the job, but, you bet, his rapture’s ended When the rain comes down in sluice-heads, or the cuttin' hailstones