She casts her verse, a simple spell
And re-lease-es a song,
“Pray, I can-not-oh-well!”
She makes me sing-along
Poems to
Sing-Along
-Arshad Mirza
Camilla, good-humoured, and merry, and small
For a husband was at her last stake;
And having in vain danced at many a ball
Is now happy to jump at a Wake.
On the Marriage of Miss Camilla Wallop and the
Reverend Wake
- Jane Austen
Cambric – with grateful blessings would I pay
The treasures given me in sweet employ;
Long mayest thou serve my friend without decay,
And have no tears to wipe but tears of joy!
To Miss Bigg, previous to her marriage, with some pocket handkerchiefs I had hemmed for her
- Jane Austen
See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride!
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder
ridge.
Down the hill they're swift proceeding,
Now they skirt the Park around;
Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding
Scamper, startled at the sound!
Run, my Brothers, to the Pier gate!
Throw it open, very wide!
Let it not be said that we're late
In welcoming my Uncle's Bride!
To the house the chaise advances;
Now it stops--They're here,
they're here!
How d'ye do, my Uncle Francis?
How does do your Lady dear?
Lines written by Jane Austen for amusement of a niece
When stretch'd on one's bed
With a fierce-throbbing head,
Which preculdes alike thought or repose,
How little one cares
For the grandest affairs
That may busy the world as it goes!
How little one feels
For the waltzes and reels
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball!
How slight one's concern
To conjecture or learn
What their flounces or hearts may befall.
How little one minds
If a company dines
On the best that the Season affords!
How short is one's muse
O'er the Sauces and Stews,
Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.
How little the Bells,
Ring they Peels, toll they Knells,
Can attract our attention or Ears!
The Bride may be married,
The Corse may be carried
And touch nor our hopes nor our fears.
Our own bodily pains
Ev'ry faculty chains;
We can feel on no subject besides.
Tis in health and in ease
We the power must seize
For our friends and our souls to provide.
When Stretch'd on One's Bed
- Jane Austen
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