English poem
Jane
by Charles Lamb
Mamma is displeased and looks very grave, And I own, brother, I was to blame Just now when I told her I wanted to have, Like Miss Lydia, a very fine name. 'Twas foolish, for, Robert, Jane sounds very well, When mamma says, "I love my good Jane." I've been lately so naughty, I hardly can tell If she ever will say so again.