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An Original Collection of Songs

sung at the Theatres Royal, Public Concerts &c. &c. By W. T. Moncrieff

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MURPHY HATH A WEATHER EYE!
  
  
  
  
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MURPHY HATH A WEATHER EYE!

[_]

A favourite Comic Meteorological Song, sung with tempestuous approbation by Mr. Hammond. Air—Norah Creina, or Lesbia hath a beaming eye.

Murphy hath a weather eye,
He can tell, whene'er he pleases,
Whether 'twill be wet or dry,
When 'twill thaw, and when it freezes.
To the stars he has been up,
Higher than the Alps high summits,
Invited by the moon to sup
With her, the planets, and the comets.
Murphy hath, &c.
Murphy hath an Almanack,
From which we every day can gather—
He has such a happy knack,
What will really be the weather.
He knows how to raise the wind,
Hold the rains, have hail at pleasure—
Get in the sun when he's a mind,
And blow a cloud whene'er he's leisure.
Murphy hath, &c.

112

Murphy can the world eclipse,
Can light the sun, if he should fail, sirs—
At Venus nightly lick his lips,
And pull the Great Bear by the tail, sirs.
He the quicksilver knocks about,
Nor ever asks what there's to pay, sirs—
Don't let his mother know he's out,
But drinks tea in the Milky Way, sirs.
Murphy hath, &c.
Murphy knows the Zodiac's signs,
Virgo long hath been his virgin:
With her he's Gemini, the Twins,
Old Capricorn his passion urging.
He with the Bull is quite at home—
The Fishes in the scales can carry—
Whene'er Aquarius reigns won't roam,
But with the Ram still plays Old Harry.
Murphy hath, &c.
Francis Moore is now no more—
Murphy is his undertaker,
And soon we may the loss deplore
Of every umbrella maker,
As all now know when 'twill be wet—
The doctors will look monstrous funny,
For very soon we shall not get
A cough or cold for love or money.
Murphy hath, &c.
Murphy is so weather wise,
He'll to a stand bring hackney coaches—
The jarvies will all bless his eyes,
And cads breathe nothing but reproaches.
No General Frost will put to flight
Great generals now, from Rome and Paris;
No army will set out to fight,
'Till Murphy hath declar'd it fair is.
Murphy hath, &c.

113

Murphy knows each wind of old,
And, like a Lapland witch can sell it—
And, when by chance 'tis very cold,
He at his fingers end can tell it.
And though he sometimes is at fault,
Yet from this what can we gather?
If it don't rain when it ought,
'Tis not his fault, 'tis the weather.
Murphy hath, &c.
A flesh and blood barometer,
(His quicksilver by us provided;)
The sun our sole gasometer,
Will be if we're by Murphy guided,
No corns must now presume to shoot,
Nor cat its left ear dare wash over,
For what will their prognostics boot?
'Tis Murphy now must all discover.
Murphy hath, &c.
Murphy is an M. N. S.
Which Member means of No Society;
For, living ou the air, he is
A Man of Natural Sobriety.
My meteorlogy to end,
May we long happy live together,
With Mr. Murphy for our friend,
To tell us all about the weather.
Murphy hath, &c.