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}