Lines to Murphy.

[The following lines, which first appeared some months since
in a periodical work of limited circulation, are obligingly placed
our disposal by the author—the same individual who composed
Tonis ad resto Mare.”]
Oh, Murphy, Murphy, I am sore afraid1
You’re but a poor and sorry common-tator ;2
A very tyro in the weather trade,3
And all unfit for Jack Frost’s legislator.4
Your foggy days, alas ! are clear and fine,5
Your cold and rainy all are warm and sunny ;6
Each following day belies your every line,7
And proves your want of science and of money.8
What ails your hail that it will not come down ?9
Why does your Phœbus fib us, too, like this ?10
Why does your thunder disappoint the town,11
In your ephemeral Ephemeris ?12
Your meteorologic logic pray revise,13
Your problems too, so very problematic ;14
And if, moon-struck, you still must theorise,15
Let not your comet course be so erratic.16
Your reign will end before the rain begins,17
And down to Zero sink your reputation ;18
Fog, Meteor, Vapour, all will kick your shins,19
And change your altitude to declination.20
The powers above—Aries, et cetera,21
Libra, Aquarius, Sagittarius—all22
Will be indignant at thy exposé,23
And stop, methinks, thy Comic Annual.24
The planets, too, will doubtless join the wars,25
Stop thy diurnal, annual rotation ;26
And, thy Urania mania marred by Mars.27
Thou wilt not well escape a good gyration.28
But fare you well, my weather-beaten boy ;29
I’ll bid good-bye, with every wish that’s kind :30
May all your future days be fine and dry,31
And you still make a breeze and raise the wind.32