'Twas the night of the Netherfield ball and dear Hurst,
Had eaten so much he was ready to burst.
Miss Bingley had sharpened her talons and slurs,
In hopes that the gentleman soon would be hers.
The ball would be run by the great orange beast,
Who sent to the town for the food for the feast.
And music and ribbons and any fine thing,
The cost was no object in search of a ring.
The ballroom was decked out with ribbons and lace,
The ladies wore gowns that were made for the race.
Most waited and hoped, but for true love's first bloom,
Though some would admit they would take any groom.
The matchmaking mamas were after their prey,
With daughters who knew they had better make hay.
Papas to the cardroom, avoiding their girls,
And all talks of laces, furbelows, and curls.
Of brandy and cards, they could have no complaint,
For watching the dancing would wear out a saint.
The ladies named Bennet all fashioned their dress,
In hopes that with officers soon they'd be blessed,
With dances and flirting and wine and good cheer,
The favorite was absent, which made for a tear.
Miss Lizzy and Charlotte saw Jane with her beaus,
In hopes that her gentleman, soon would propose.
The pair was well matched and their looks quite divine,
Though some might assert that they both lacked a spine.
The single men knew that they might find their wives,
Though most were content to escape with their lives.
For Darcy, the challenge was doubly acute,
For such were his manners, most thought him a brute.
As Collins approached to lead Lizzy to dance,
The lady cursed fate, every god, and plain chance.
The lady might poke out her eye with a spoon,
If she could escape from that silly buffoon.
His dancing was gruesome, his talk quite the bore,
Yet if she denied him, she could dance no more.
He moved the wrong way, far more often than not,
His speech was verbose, but of sense he had aught.
His breath was sufficient to knock out a horse,
While blathering loudly of Rosings of course.
He talked of the chimneys and windows with glee,
The wonder of wonders which all must agree.
Of Cathy the lady, he spoke in such awe,
That one would be tempted to think she was law.
She obviously thought that she must own the town,
Though Lizzy thought maybe that she was a clown.
The parson would kill, just to fill out at whist,
The wine was so good that he often got pissed.
The dance was eternal, the clock hands, they froze,
'Til Lizzy thought murder she would not oppose.
Her slippers in tatters, she ran for her life
And went to join Charlotte and not be his wife.
And what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But the handsomest man and surprisingly near.
He stopped and he stared and he gave a short bow,
And asked if a dance she might kindly bestow.
She stared and she gaped, but no sound did produce,
And finally said 'yes' for the lack of excuse.
She stuttered and stammered and cursed her bad luck,
Her best friend said, "Blast! Does your attitude suck!"
He's rich and he's handsome and never a rake,
Get over yourself, a good husband he'd make.
For some lucky girl, so I say, why not you?
A husband you need, and I think he would do.
He beats out your cousin with much room to spare,
You must have some courage, if only you dare.
I say don't you slight him. Do not be insane,
If no other reason, just think of our Jane.
She'll suffer the strikes from your mother and kin,
Embarrassed for sure, and they might even sin.
They're loud and they're crass, so much worse than you think,
And that doesn't count the effects of the drink.
She'll boast Mr. Bingley has just met his fate,
His nuptials arranged, with all set but the date.
Your sisters will run through the dance like a bull,
And only slow down when their glasses are full.
They'll giggle and shriek 'til your face blooms full red,
And when it is done, you will wish them all dead.
Do not be a simpleton! That's all I ask,
If you need some courage, then here is my flask.
Just basic politeness is all I demand,
For you never know — he just might want your hand.
Please give him a chance that is all he is due,
And purely by chance, you may find he likes you.
Do not let your pride make you hold to your grudge,
If he offers up facts, please for once, fairly judge.
The gentleman came and he offered his hand,
She shyly admitted, they looked rather grand.
The neighbors were looking and staring with awe,
His dislike of dancing, was thought to be law.
They danced for a time and he looked quite the fool,
'Til finally deciding they must talk by rule.
They talked of the couples, the room, and the dance,
When words became hard then she just took a chance.
She asked of the soldier, her favorite by far,
And he stared at the lady and started to spar.
He told quite a tale of his cheating and vice,
And far-far worse things that were very not nice.
Of gaming, seductions, and debts did he speak,
Of ladies lost virtue, and gin did he reek.
He offered up proof in the scoundrel's own hand,
She with her blood boiling, exclaimed, "he is banned".
From every estate, now his entry is barred,
By lying to me, he has played the wrong card.
Good luck getting credit! He has his last pence,
To women and merchants, I'll offer defense.
She said she would wish him run out on a rail,
Or much better yet, with his debts, go to jail.
Perhaps the right man could just meet him at dawn,
But he would just cheat as he is devil's spawn.
He said I've been thinking, and I have a plan,
I am heartily sick of that bane of a man.
He wants to play soldier, to look good in red,
I'll send him to France, where he'll likely end dead.
It's easy enough to arrange with his debts,
He can rot in the prison or cover his bets.
'No More Mr. Nice Guy,' is my motto now,
And I will get clear of that vermin somehow.
Enough of that swine, and with all of his vice,
I'll dance with my lady, and maybe dance twice.
I have one more question to ask while I can,
Just what is the deal with that odd little man?
She said life's not fair. I'm as poor as a mouse,
And that silly parson's in search of a spouse.
The estate is entailed, the house and the land,
My idiot cousin will ask for my hand.
I'll have to say nay. But for love will I wed,
And it gives me the creepies to think of his bed.
My mother will rant and will rave and will howl,
Her purpose in life is for husbands to prowl.
She'll threaten with silence for all of my days,
Or try to convince me to live with malaise.
The threat of the silence will turn out a joke,
An hour of quiet would give her a stroke.
Her promise of silence is not a real threat,
My father won't force me – at least that's my bet.
The man's heart did thunder, his face turned full red,
And bellow he did, "Over my body dead."
"I will not allow it", he said with a yell,
If you would but kiss me then all would be well.
We'd leave in the morning for Gretna of Green
Then back to our castle where you'll be my queen.
Or maybe a license will be to your taste,
I gave it some thought and a long trip's a waste.
I know in my mind I'd go mad with the wait,
Just one little kiss and we'll head for the gate.
And Lizzy's brow furrowed, to think of the plan,
Could any believe her in love with that man?
An hour before she had thought him quite vain,
Though clearly in vengeance for calling her plain.
Handsome he was, and tonight not a fool,
In fact, as he saw her, she thought he might drool.
She thought she might swoon with her heart in alarm,
For as he had shown her, he really could charm.
Her mother would boast of success all her days,
But she could ignore it for her husband's gaze.
She tried to find reason and think with her head,
But her heart was so strong that she sent it to bed.
Her heart grew three sizes to burst from her chest,
Though not really literal (Ick! — what a mess).
She looked at her man and then asked with despair,
"Just how can you kiss me from clear over there?"