I’ll go and look at the Pimpernel
And see if she thinks the clouds look well.
For if the sun shine
And ’tis like to be fine,
I’ll go to the fair.
So Pimpernel, what bode the clouds in the sky;
If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I.
Now the Pimpernel flower had folded up
Her little gold star in her coral cup.
And unto the maid
A warning she said:
“Though the sun seems down
There’s a gathering frown
O’er the checkered blue of the clouded sky
So, tarry at home! for a storm is nigh!”