Flashes of Austen
From page to screen
Adorable Jane Austen
Telling us love stories
Woven amidst secrecies
And social prejudices.
The shrewd girl from Steventon
Bequeathed to us a treasure written
With a unique goose feather quill
Fulfilling her wishes and will.
Readers of Austen find
An array of characters
Speaking their mind
Through a precision of language
In different voices beyond age!
Kindness and civility
Elegance and respect
Are visible in landed gentry
The directors are crazy to adapt...
June,2012
poem by Maria C. Costa
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Little Liza Jane
Traditional
Where is my tambourine wait a minute I'll get your tambourine
Got my tambourine get your thing baby
What's wrong with you what is it you want
Can't forget my tambourine boy want a minute
This is a folk tune nad it's called Little Liza Jane
We get some rhythm started here and see what happens
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
I got a beau you ain't got none Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee Little Liza Jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Hambone Hammer where you've been
Down by the river making gin
I know a man that's three feet tall
Drink his liquor and has a ball
Saw him just the other day
He had a horse and a ball of hay
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
He took me to his great big town
Lots of people standing around
They were listening to a great big band
the bestest music in the land
I tell you once and tell you twice
Enjoy yourself and live your life
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Lisa Jane Jane Little Liza
Little Liza Jean Little Liza Jean
Oh Little Liza Liza Jane oh Little Liza Liza Jean
[...] Read more
song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Little Liza Jean
Traditional
Where is my tambourine wait a minute Ill get your tambourine
Got my tambourine get your thing baby
Whats wrong with you what is it you want
Cant forget my tambourine boy want a minute
This is a folk tune nad its called little liza jane
We get some rhythm started here and see what happens
I got a beau you aint got none little liza jean
I got a beau you aint got none little liza jean
I got a beau you aint got none little liza jean
I got a beau you aint got none little liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee little liza jean
Come my love and live with me
I will take good care of thee little liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
Hambone hammer where youve been
Down by the river making gin
I know a man thats three feet tall
Drink his liquor and has a ball
Saw him just the other day
He had a horse and a ball of hay
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little liza jean little liza jean
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little liza jean little liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
He took me to his great big town
Lots of people standing around
They were listening to a great big band
The bestest music in the land
I tell you once and tell you twice
Enjoy yourself and live your life
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little liza jean little liza jean
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little lisa jane jane little liza
Little liza jean little liza jean
Oh little liza liza jane oh little liza liza jean
[...] Read more
song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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Better, Deeper, More Intelligent
Better, deeper, more intelligent,
and sensitive than us, Jane Austen
provides a literary environment
in which we all, by getting lost in
admiration for her heroines,
feel so diminished we conclude
whichever of the many heroes wins
their heart is an unlucky dude.
Riding with her, dressed by Abercombie
and Fitch is not the sort of way
I’d like to spend my time. I’m not a zombie.
Perhaps because I am not gay
I can’t relate to all the topics Jane
obsesses on, and in Northanger
Abbey heroines would all complain
I was a crashing bore and wanker.
“Why couldn’t all these heroines go out
and get a job? ” was asked by Emma––
not Jane’s, Ms. Thompson’s Emma, without doubt
a heroine who’s not a femi-
nist––oh horrid word––but understands
how prejudice which is their pride
lands nearly all of them in Jane’s badlands
composed of English countryside.
Who needs a woman who is deeper than
themselves, far better, surely, and
far more intelligent? I’m not that man.
Although I think I understand
what all her heroines are saying, I
don’t look for girls who're good or deep.
I’m merely looking for the sort who’ll lie
with me before I fall asleep.
Inspired by an article by Jennifer Schuessler on “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” by Seth Grahame-Smith (“I Was a Regency Zombie, ” NYT, February 22,2009) :
The classic examples of that would be any speech by Judi Dench — her accent certainly helps — or Emma Thompson’s understated, wryly funny acceptance speech at the 1996 Oscars, when she won the award for best adapted screenplay for “Sense and Sensibility.”
“Before I came, I went to visit Jane Austen’s grave in Winchester Cathedral to pay my respects, you know, and tell her about the grosses, ” she said. She also thanked Sidney Pollack “for asking the right questions, like, ‘Why couldn’t these women go out and get a job? ’ ” Ms. Thompson — who accepted another award, at the Golden Globes, with a speech in the style of Jane Austen herself — then did what cool British award winners do: she put the Oscar in her guest bathroom.
These days, America is menaced by zombie banks and zombie computers. What’s next, a zombie Jane Austen? In fact, yes. Minor pandemonium ensued in the blogosphere this month after Quirk Books announced the publication of “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, ” an edition of Austen’s classic juiced up with “all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem” by a Los Angeles television writer named Seth Grahame-Smith. (First line: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”) … In fact, “Pride and Prejudice” may already be a zombie novel, contends Brad Pasanek, a specialist in 18th-century literature at the University of Virginia. “The characters other than the protagonist are so often surrounded by people who aren’t fully human, like machines that keep repeating the same things over and over again, ” Professor Pasanek said. “All those characters shuffling in and out of scenes, always frustrating the protagonists. It’s a crowded but eerie landscape. What’s wrong with those people? They don’t dance well but move in jerky fits. Oh, they are headed this way! ” While the vast industry of Austen sequels and pastiches runs heavily toward the romance-novel end of the literary spectrum - see “The Private Diary of Mr. Darcy” by Maya Slater, to be published in the United States in June - scholars have long emphasized the mean-girl side of Jane’s personality. Professor Pasanek, who has collaborated on a project that uses spam-detection software to analyze Austen fan fiction, cites the psychologist D. W. Harding’s 1940 essay “Regulated Hatred, ” which sounds more like a death-metal band than a piece of influential Austen scholarship.“Most people try to ignore the fact that Austen’s novels are sort of acid baths, ” Professor Pasanek said. “She’s so much better, deeper, more sensitive and intelligent than everyone around her that she has to regulate her own misanthropy. Her novels are hostile environments.”
2/22/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Jane
Jane you say its all over for you and me girl
Theres a time for love and a time for letting it be baby
Jane youre playing a game called, called hard to get by its real name,
Making believe that you just dont feel the same. oh jane
Jane youre playing a game you never can win girl
Youre staying away so Ill ask you where you been baby
Like a cat and a mouse, (cat and a mouse) from door to door and house to house
Dont you pretend you dont know what Im talking about
Were all those nights we spent together, hey hey
Only because you didnt know better, I gotta know
Jane, youre playin a game, playin a game, playin a game
(jane, jane, jane)
Ah jane youre playing a game of hide and go seek
Jane youre playing for fun but I play for keeps, yes I do
(jane, jane, jane) thats a game on me
(jane, jane, jane) so plain to see
Janey jane why you foolin with me
(jane, jane, jane)
song performed by Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Jane
Standin' on the corner, suit case in my hand, Jack is in his coat, Jane is in her vest, and, me, I'm in a rock 'n' roll band. Riding in a Stutz-Bearcat, Jim. Ya know, those were different times. The poets, they studied rules of verse, and the ladies, they rolled their eyes.Sweet Jane! Sweet Jane! Sweet Jane!
Now, Jack, he is a banker, and Jane, she is a clerk. Both of them save their monies, when they come home from work. Sittin' down there by the fire, the radio does play. The classic music is, "The March of Wooden Soldiers", and you can heard Jack say, Sweet Jane, Sweet Jane, Sweet Jane.
Some people like to go out dancin'. Now other people they go to work. There's even some evil mothers, they'll tell you life's just made out of dirt.That women, they never really faint, and villains always blink their eyes.That childeren are the only ones who blush, and life is just to die. That every one who ever had a heart...that wouldn't turn round and break it, anyone that played a part, whooa, and wouldn't turn round and hate it.Sweet Jane, Sweet Jane, Sweet Jane.
Sweet Jane! (Sweet Jane) Sweet Jane! (Sweet Jane)...Sweet Jane! (Sweet Jane)...(Sweet Jane)...(Sweet Jane)...(Sweet Jane).
song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mary Jane
Now when I go to work, I work all day,
Always turns out the same.
When I bring home my hard-earned pay
I spend my money all on mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Oh if a man should look tame now, mean and mature,
They all turn out the same.
cause they cant do nothing to make a man feel good
Like my old mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Now I walk in the street now lookin for a friend
One that can lend me some change.
And he never questions my reason why,
cause he too loves mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Well, I have known women that wanted no man,
Some that wanted to stay.
But I never knew what happened in this world
Till I met up with mary jane,
Mary jane, mary jane, lord my mary jane.
Oh, when Im feelin lonesome and Im feelin blue,
Theres only one way to change.
Now I walk down the street now lookin for a man,
One that knows my mary jane,
Mary jane, mary jane, lord my mary jane.
song performed by Janis Joplin
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The Victories Of Love. Book II
I
From Jane To Her Mother
Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,
[...] Read more
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Intro/sweet Jane
Standing on the corner
Suitcase in my hand
Jacks in his corset, jane is in her vest
Me, honey, Im in a rock n roll band
Ridin in a stutz bearcat, jim
Those were different times
They studied rules of verse
And those ladies they rolled their eyes
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Jack, he is a banker
Jane, she is a clerk
Both of them save their money
When they come home from work
Sittin by the fire
Radio does play, look classical music there, kids
The march of the wooden soldiers
You can hear jack say
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Some people like to go out dancing
And other people like us, we gotta work
And theres even some evil mothers
Theyll tell you that life is just made out of dirt
And women never really faint
All the villains always blink their eyes
That children are the only ones who blush
And life is just to die
Anyone who ever had a heart
And wouldnt turn around and break it
Anyone who ever played a part
And wouldnt turn around and hate it
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Sweet jane
Sweet jane, sweet jane
Sweet jane, oh honey, sweet jane
Sweet jane, oh, sweet jane
Sweet jane, sweet jane
song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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What's The New Mary Jane
She looks as an african queen,
She eating twelve chapattis and cream,
She tastes as mongolian lamb,
She coming from out of bahran.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
She like to be married with yeti,
He grooving such cooky spaghetti,
She jumping as mexican bean
To make that her body more thin.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
She catch patagonian pancake
With that one a gin party makes.
She having all the ways good contacts,
She making with apple an contract.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
All together now:
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
She looks as an african queen,
She tastes as mongolian lamb.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
What a shame mary jane.
What a shame mary jane
Had a pain at the party.
song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Plain Jane
Ah, tell 'em about it Darlin'.
Here we go.
She's a waitress at her corner,
Always dancin' nine-to-five.
Well, she ain't no supermodel,
But I'm here to tell you, she's fine, (Ha, ha.)
She's so fine, Johnny.
She's like the classic girl next door,
There's somethin' 'bout her walk:
There's somethin' that goes off inside,
Each time she starts to talk.
Plain Jane,
Oh, I love her name.
She drives me insane.
She's my plain Jane.
She always gets my business,
I can't wait to ring her bell.
(Ah, I bet you can't Donnie.)
She puts a quarter in the jukebox:
Says she don't kiss an' tell.
Is that right, brother.
The way she wears that dress, (Yeah.)
It's time that I confess:
The music starts an' my heart stops,
An' I become a mess.
Plain Jane,
Oh, I love her name.
She drives me insane.
She's my plain Jane.
Nothin' fancy: she's just got everything.
She's so addicting; she's so amazing:
Can't think of anything.
Do, do, do do.
(Whoa, talk to me, plain Jane.)
Do, do, do do, do, do.
Whoa, yeah,
C'mon.
Plain Jane,
Oh, I love her name.
She drives me insane.
She's my plain Jane. (Jane, Jane.)
Plain Jane,
Oh, I love her name.
She drives me insane.
She said just call me plain Jane.
(That's right, buddy."
Plain Jane,
She's my plain Jane.
She's my plain Jane.
She's my plain, (Jane)
[...] Read more
song performed by Van Zant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Synergy of Love
'Were you honed from poetry? '
I asked your saddened smile.
For it seems to tell a longing tale -
One of words in oratory
That speaks in languid metaphors
From lips of mind in deep despair
And solitude from inner wars
That over time has rendered life so frail.
'Were you carved from doleful prose? '
I sought to ask your gaze,
For a pain lies deep within your eyes -
One of barren territory
Where no fair heart could ever drift
And hope to venture back content
With grateful memories in a gift -
A land of your affectional demise.
'Do I hear a mournful hum? '
I wondered of your cry,
For it sings a song of deep lament -
One of quiet soliloquy
Recited on deserted strands
To waves that have no sense of song
And only wish to fight the sands -
A chant that cites emotional descent.
Do you know your face portrays
The colours of your soul?
It tells me at a single glance
Of how you burned your furnace whole
To stay the fire in our romance.
And see the prismic hues they bore!
I cherished all I ever saw:
Mauve of mystic; browns of rustic;
Reddened tones to match your blush;
Marine of passion, spending out your being,
Leaving you for ashen embers, fleeing
The dying light in hush of night.
And how you lay there empty.
So let me help re-grow the flowers
Once erect in fiery showers!
For now I've seen what love can do
When torn asunder - oh my catastrophic blunder!
But we must realise -
Our flaming want is meant to be!
We are the ocean and the sea;
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Tale XXI
The Learned Boy
An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and
hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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The Cross Roads; Or, The Haymaker's Story
Stopt by the storm, that long in sullen black
From the south-west stained its encroaching track,
Haymakers, hustling from the rain to hide,
Sought the grey willows by the pasture-side;
And there, while big drops bow the grassy stems,
And bleb the withering hay with pearly gems,
Dimple the brook, and patter in the leaves,
The song or tale an hour's restraint relieves.
And while the old dames gossip at their ease,
And pinch the snuff-box empty by degrees,
The young ones join in love's delightful themes,
Truths told by gipsies, and expounded dreams;
And mutter things kept secrets from the rest,
As sweethearts' names, and whom they love the best;
And dazzling ribbons they delight to show,
And last new favours of some veigling beau,
Who with such treachery tries their hearts to move,
And, like the highest, bribes the maidens' love.
The old dames, jealous of their whispered praise,
Throw in their hints of man's deluding ways;
And one, to give her counsels more effect,
And by example illustrate the fact
Of innocence oercome by flattering man,
Thrice tapped her box, and pinched, and thus began.
'Now wenches listen, and let lovers lie,
Ye'll hear a story ye may profit by;
I'm your age treble, with some oddments to't,
And right from wrong can tell, if ye'll but do't:
Ye need not giggle underneath your hat,
Mine's no joke-matter, let me tell you that;
So keep ye quiet till my story's told,
And don't despise your betters cause they're old.
'That grave ye've heard of, where the four roads meet,
Where walks the spirit in a winding-sheet,
Oft seen at night, by strangers passing late,
And tarrying neighbours that at market wait,
Stalking along as white as driven snow,
And long as one's shadow when the sun is low;
The girl that's buried there I knew her well,
And her whole history, if ye'll hark, can tell.
Her name was Jane, and neighbour's children we,
And old companions once, as ye may be;
And like to you, on Sundays often strolled
To gipsies' camps to have our fortunes told;
And oft, God rest her, in the fortune-book
Which we at hay-time in our pockets took,
Our pins at blindfold on the wheel we stuck,
When hers would always prick the worst of luck;
[...] Read more
poem by John Clare
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Looking For A Goose To Cook
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover,
Looking for a goose to cook.
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover,
Looking for a goose to cook.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover...
Looking for a goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Forsaking My Love
I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleas
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
O you wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or rather
It is the lack of her which brings me sorrow
It is the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
O my poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Silver
Added by Poetry Lover
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Sarah Jane
I got a wife and five little chillun
I'm gonna take a trip on the big McMillan
With Saro Jane
Saro Jane
Ain't nothin' to do
But to set down and sing
And rock about my Saro Jane
The boiler busted and the whistle squall
The Captain gone through the hole-in-the-wall
Oh Saro Jane
Saro Jane
Ain't nothin' to do
But to set down and sing
And rock about my Saro Jane
The engine give a crack and the whistle gave a squall
The engineer gone to the hole-in-the-wall
Saro Jane
Saro Jane
Ain't nothin' to do
But to set down and sing
And rock about my Saro Jane
Yankee built boats to shoot them Rebels
My gun's steady gonna hold it level
Saro Jane
Saro Jane
But to set down and sing
And rock about my Saro Jane
I got a wife and five little chillun
I'm gonna take a trip on the big McMillan
Saro Jane
Saro Jane
Ain't nothin' to do
But to set down and sing
And rock about my Saro Jane
song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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See Jane Run
(porter howell/tim nichols)
Dick and jane dont talk anymore, jane lays awake
Wishin it could be like it was before
Finally one night, she got tough
Dick came home, and she was packin her stuff
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
Dicks tore up, deep down inside
Jane feels good, there aint a tear in her pretty blue eyes
Red taillights, fade out of sight
Spots in the back, hes just along for the ride
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
Yeah, close the book, the storys done
See jane run, oh see jane run, see jane run
song performed by Trace Adkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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See Jane Run
(porter howell/tim nichols)
Dick and jane dont talk anymore, jane lays awake
Wishin it could be like it was before
Finally one night, she got tough
Dick came home, and she was packin her stuff
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
Dicks tore up, deep down inside
Jane feels good, there aint a tear in her pretty blue eyes
Red taillights, fade out of sight
Spots in the back, hes just along for the ride
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
See jane run, see dick cry
Hes standin in the street with his hands in the air
Goin why jane, why
She dont look back, shes seen enough
Close the book, the storys done, see jane run
Yeah, close the book, the storys done
See jane run, oh see jane run, see jane run
song performed by Trace Adkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost - Book IV
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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