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No. 3: Song (Murphy & Chorus)
Music by Arthur Sullivan.
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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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Page modified 28 May 2010