David Cameron is Richard III -- with apologies to W Shakespeare

(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 Oxford 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