The Laughing Song

My dear Marquis, why must you be
So loathe to use your eyes?
When you stop and stare
Take a lot more care
And closely scrutinise

My fingers, my ankles, my feet
Ha ha ha ha ha
How shapely and trim and petite
Ha ha ha ha ha
Both accent and inflection
Show polish to perfection
Such graces
Are the traces of our old elite
Such graces
Are the traces of our old elite

I marvel how a man like you
Could fail to see my blood runs blue!
What a funny, ha ha ha
Situation, ha ha ha
What a startling, ha ha ha
Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha
What a funny, ha ha ha
Situation, ha ha ha ha!
Marquis oh what a wag you are!

Profiles they say
Gives the game away
When formed with classic grace

If the head on view
Isn't much to you
Then look at me sideface!

What evidence more can there be, ha ha ha ha ha!
I sing at soirees without fee, ha ha ha ha ha!
Bestowing my attention
With lofty condescension
Such graces
Are the traces of a pedigree
Such graces
Are the traces of a pedigree

All's one to you though I'm afraid
Because you love a parlour maid!
What a funny, ha ha ha
Situation, ha ha ha
What a startling, ha ha ha
Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha
What a funny, ha ha ha
Situation, ha ha ha

{Charlotte vocalizing}