Saturday, September 26, 2009
Once royal throne of kings, once scepter’d isle,
Once earth of majesty, once seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
Now ragged breed of serfs, this shattered world,
A festering sore set in the leaden sea,
Which serves it in no office at all,
Not as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of foreign shithouses,
This desolate plot, this earth, this ex-realm, this England,
This whore, this teeming womb of elected bastardy,
Fear’d by their taxpayers and famous by their filth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For debauched corruption and true chicanery,
As is the offshore account to bent Mandy,
Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her lost reputation through the world,
Is now sold out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
The final nine lines didn't need any adjustment.
With apologies to Wm. Shakespeare esq., from all of us.