A Most Spirited Turn of Play
“Catherine, who had nothing heroic about her, should prefer baseball.”
Northanger Abbey
Cath’rine Morland steps upto the plate,
And ties her bonnet tighter,
Swings her bat in practice, once, twice,
And holds her breath.
On the mount, she stares at Emma Dashwood,
Knuckles growing whiter,
Then turns to Fanny Price on first,
And knows it’s sudden death.
Behind, she hears the rustle come from
Lizzie Bennet’s morning dress,
As Marianna Dashwood stands at shortstop,
Fidgetting about.
And guarding third, Anne Elliot,
Her ringlets in a tangled mess,
From her recent diving catch
That had sent Mr Darcy out.
Now Emma’s winding up her pitch,
And Lizzie gives a little burst –
Intended to distract her –
Most unladylike, she notes.
But she hits the screwball to the Moon,
Flings down her bat, and runs to first –
Only to lose both game and poise
When she trips on her petticoats.
Of course, it’s a not all leisure in Jane Austen’s world…
Rhyming Couplets 