[Intro] The fine art of whining Like the fine art of dining A subject that one can get lost in So don't be a fool Go find a good school And who better to teach than Jane Austen Who better to teach than Jane Austen [Verse 1] Mary Musgrove, sore of throat, Laments in ev'ry line she wrote. "My throat," cries Mary, "nothing worse" In whining contests she’d take first [Bridge] But Jan who knows Jane Austen’s art: Traces the whine, and does not take part. [Chorus] Oh, the scholar who does not whine Ever so carefully draws the line— 'Twixt venting, and blaming, and wanting more, And dignity that is worth standing for. She sets her quill pen down with a smile— A lady scholar with style. [ Verse 2 ] John Knightley whines of snow and sleet, Of horses stamping frozen feet, He moralizes from on high While Isabella murmurs, "Aye." But Woodhouse wins the vicarious crown: Poor Miss Taylor! Cast her down! [Bridge] Jan sees how men may vent and blame Yet earn forbearance all the same. [Chorus] [Bridge Spoken, in the manner of a scholarly aside] "A whine," she wrote, "is not complaint It vents, it blames, refuses restraint. Repeated, projected, never done— Women have lost and men have won." [Verse 3] So here's to one who traced the thread Through Austen's whiners, live and dead, Who found in Mary, Walter, Price A cultural critique precise— And many years away from school, Still proves that wit outshines the fool. [Finale] No future sore-throats plague her pen, No vicarious whines—and yet, and then: She fell in love, How fine. The lady who does not whine.
