The Brexit of Our Discontent

(with apologies to Will Shakespeare and Richard lll)

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I am the Brexit of your discontent,
Made glorious stronger by this no deal talk;
And all the lies that were writ upon my bus,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now as my crowds shout their victorious oaths;
My poisoned charms now deliver not what was meant;
My twisted truths masquerade in merry meetings,
My dreadful lurches - no delightful pleasure.
Grim visaged war hath smoothed my wrinkled front,
And now instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
I caper nimbly as I best remember
To the lacivious pleasing of a lute.
But l, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Not made to court an amorous looking glass.
I that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my Nation against its own to sin,
In deadly hate, the one against the other:
And if Remainers be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This October day see all agument be mew'd up,
My proflegate waste which says you
And all your heirs, the death of you I'll be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here,
The future comes.

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© Keith Murphy