David Cameron is Richard III - With Apologies to the Bard

08/02/2013 13:11 | Updated 10 April 2013

(With apologies to William Shakespeare and to King Richard III, formerly of Leicester Social Services car park.)

Enter Richard III, who in this production closely resembles David Cameron

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made yet more chill by inglorious mutiny.
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
Weigh deep in the bosom of this accursed king.
Behind him and at his side, an army --
Not of faithful friends and stalwart yeomen,
But of weak and fickle traitors,
Who will not act 'pon their king's command
Yet murmur in the shadows of plots and treason.
Instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
They plead and whimper
Of conscience, opportunely-found.
They know not love nor loyalty,
Neither in this House nor 'twixt the sheets.
Instead, they yowl of God's law
And swoon clean away
Lest man should marry man
Or woman woman.

Enter a messenger, breathless

My Lord, I bring word from the Tower
Where your nephews, the Princes,
Lie, abandoned, in their chains.
They bid me plead their case, to save them
From the wrath of Gove
And his foul determination to torment them
With further agonies and examinations
Which - they cry - no mortal human could bear.

Enter a second messenger, also breathless

My Lord, I come direct from blasted Surrey Heath,
Whence the good lord Gove bids you know
That all is now for nought.
Your enemies, now, are also his --
Where once were liberal hearts,
Are only foes, filled not with love for you,
But with hatred and resolve
To thwart you both at every turn.
Your project is undone,
And dangers loom e'en greater than before.

Richard/Cameron tears off his cloak in a rage

Morse! Morse! My kingdom for Morse!
Get ye to Cambridge and bid the wise old man
I have need of him post-haste
To show me the colour of mine enemies,
To root them out and make this land
As once it was, fair and just,
A place fit for Cameroons as yet unborn.
Bid him join us on the fields of Eastleigh
Where we shall fight like lions
And smite our foes, where'er they be.

Exeunt, stage (centre) right