Dear Miss Austen, What heartfelt joy, Those English lives that you employ. To act and dance upon the stage, Their schemes of Love they so engage. Dear Miss Austen, How so it's true, From out the page you're children grew. And though the birth was yours alone, The custom being your name unknown. For with Darcy's pride and Lizzy's distain, You weaved their tale to lasting fame. And how the Dashwoods from home cast out, Had steeled their Hearts against falsehood and doubt. But fate that traitor had moved again, To wound and still your unfledged pen. Now; cast in stone by time inscribed, The World does bow to England's pride.
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