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No. 3: Song (Murphy & Chorus)

Music by Arthur Sullivan.

MIDI File MIDI File [18KB, 2' 31"]

Murphy.
Of Viceroys though we've had
A rather large assortment,
There's never been
One half as keen
As this one on Deportment.
It is the ruling fad
That marks his constitution!
Deportment, and,
You understand,
The Art of Elocution!
And will a man stand tamely by
While Irish jigs are put down,
Because a Viceroy thinks it low
To kick your heels up so — and so — ?
Ireland, kick your heels up high,
To show you've put your foot down!

Chorus.
Ireland, kick your heels up high,
To show you've put your foot down!
Henry Lytton as Murphy

Murphy.
Now every Irish boy,
And all colleens (or lasses),
Professors teach
The Saxon speech
At Elocution classes!
And all who don't employ
The purest English accent,
Are as a rule
To Infant School
Incontinently back sent!
And will a man be meek and dumb,
And see the Irish nation
Advance by rapid leaps and hops
To be a race of Saxon fops?
Ireland, that's what ye'll become
Wid all this education!
Chorus.
Ireland, that's what ye'll become,
Wid all this education!

Murphy.
And will a man stand tamely by
And be of brogue bereft now,
Because a Lord Lieutenant's fad
Has made him education mad,
And every boy's alas! a lad
That's taught to read and write and add,
However poorly born or clad?
But being blind myself it's glad
I am that I have never had
To read or write, and now, bedad!
There's only one thing I can add —
Ireland! hold your Rights — and, why?
Your Rights are all that's left now!
Chorus.
Ireland! hold your Rights, — and, why?
Your Rights are all that's left now!

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