When Stretch'd on One's Bed by Jane Austen

When stretch'd on one's bed 

With a fierce-throbbing head, 

Which preculdes alike thought or repose, 

How little one cares 

For the grandest affairs 

That may busy the world as it goes!

How little one feels 

For the waltzes and reels 

Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball! 

How slight one's concern 

To conjecture or learn 

What their flounces or hearts may befall.

How little one minds 

If a company dines 

On the best that the Season affords! 

How short is one's muse 

O'er the Sauces and Stews, 

Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.

How little the Bells, 

Ring they Peels, toll they Knells, 

Can attract our attention or Ears! 

The Bride may be married, 

The Corse may be carried 

And touch nor our hopes nor our fears.

Our own bodily pains 

Ev'ry faculty chains; 

We can feel on no subject besides.

Tis in health and in ease 

We the power must seize 

For our friends and our souls to provide.

Poem Source