Saturday, September 18, 2010

6 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 2 Scene 2

                        Thunder and lightning. Enter Bushius Caesar in his nightgown

Caesar:             Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight
                        Thrice Laura in her sleep cried out in fright
                        “Help ho, they murder…

Writing C.                                                Will!

Caesar:                                                             I mean impeach
                         My Bushie Caesar!”   
                                           Enter Rovius, mincing like a chorus girl

Rovius:                                           ‘Tis within your reach
                        To do whate’er I will, I mean you will.
                        Thus do you top the superstarring bill
                        For you are president imperial

Vox populi:        More like a blunderer most serial
                        Doth he mismanage all th' affairs of state.
                        Let's shout it from the rooftops, mate to mate.

Caesar:            Was that the thunder I just heard without
                        That sounded like a saucy rumbling shout?

Rovius:              It must have been. But wherefore art thou up
                        At this ungodly hour?

Caesar:                                              I did sup
                        And then retire; but 'tis Laura, see,
                        She screams all night that horrors threaten me.
                                    Enter Laura, hair flowing like Ophelia’s

Laura:               O Caesar, think’st thou to go forth today,
                        When all the portents point for you to stay
                        Within the house?

Caesar:                                         I shall go forth.

Laura:                                                                  My lord,
                        I ne’er before with you have had discord,
                        But heed the omens that are rife about
                        This dark and stormy night. The lions shout
                        And dance around the streets, so say’th the watch;
                        The timid mouse o’ergrown like some Sasquatch
                        Doth brawl and roar. Such horrid sights abound
                        Beneath, upon and high above the ground:
                        For graves have yawned and yielded up their dead,
                        Fierce fiery warriors fought on clouds o’erhead,
                        In ranks and squadrons and right form of war
                        They hovered ghoulish right above our door,
                        Then drizzled 'mpeach juice on the Capitol
                        From some confounded hell-fired grassy knoll.

Will S.:             This time I did wemember FBI;
                        No bullets, death wain I down from the sky.
                        Wemembered I thy plea: ‘Please, please, no blood!’

Writing C.:        Wemember? Wain? Thou sound’st like Elmer Fudd.

Will S.:             'Tis my Elizabethan dentures, 'struth
                        That slip and slop around from tooth to tooth.

Laura:               O sweet my lord, thou shalt not go!

Caesar:                                                                   I will,
                        For with my Texas swagger there’s no ill
                        That e’er could harm me. Macho, macho man
                        Am I. Can I, you ask. Oh yes, I can.
                        So forth go I now.

Laura:                                                  O, you brainless jerk,
                         Your wisdom is consumed within your smirk.

Caesar:              Thy dream’s the most ridiculous I’ve heard.
                         Go read thine omens, read thy carrot turd!

Will S:               'Tis tarot card, you word befouling fool,
                         Fortune predicting, not a veggie’s stool!
                         Ye gods, I tell thee coach, they’ve come to life,
                         My cast, with all their brainless errors rife.
                         He cannot say a word, nor read a phrase
                         But that his Bushie misspeak doth amaze.

Writing C:          There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
                         That he has mangled, more than we shall ever know.

Will S:               Horatio? Base varlet! Durst thou steal
                         From my most excellent Hamleting schpiel?

Writing C:           In jest, O Will, I do it, but a joke
                         To stress how simple language he doth cloak
                         In solecisms, howlers, corrigenda.
                         Thank God the English language hath no gender,
                         Else that too would he mash. The goon now gooner,
                         He spouts more -isms e'en than Dr. Spooner.
                         'Tis but to show the depths, O sweet my lord,
                         To which the Bushie Caesar sows discord
                         Amid each ev’ry word, each syllable;
                         Each phrase, each noun, each verb, unstoppable,
                         Doth he condemn to death; thus hath he wrung
                         The neck of our most comely English tongue.
                         But let them now crash on, O sweet my Bill
                         And take thy verses fine where’er they will.    
                                                     Enter Nortona

Caesar:              Good morrow, sweet Tempesta, for what cause
                         Come’st thou?

Nortona:                                 To hear the popular applause;
                         I come to fetch thee to the Senate House
                         Which by acclaim and vote unanimous
                         Will offer thee the crown.

Caesar:                                                 But Laura here
                         Tells me to stir not; she is all a-fear.
                         She dreamt tonight she saw my statuette,
                         Which ran im-peach juice in a mighty jet.

Will S.:              You see! No blood!

Caesar:                                             And all the populace
                        Did come to drink my blo… juice, bibulous,
                        Exulting, smirking, zounds, in my un-blood
                        And plunged their arms and togas in the flood.
                                    Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:          For toga stains from peach juice deep and thick,
                         Try solvents from our chemical sidekick
                         From Halliburton’s KBR.

                                                          Exit sponsor 1

Caesar:                                                    Now she
                         In such portents doth evil omens see.

Nortona:            This dream is all amiss interpreted;
                        The vision’s fair, and she has ill vetted
                        The portent’s contents’ intents. Don’t resent
                        It! ‘Tis fair favour. Do thou be content!
                        It signifies that from you Rome shall suck
                        Reviving juice. This vision is no yuck.

Caesar:             And this way have you well expounded it.
                        You see, dear Laura, quit your hissy fit.

Laura:               ‘Tis you I can’t quit, Caesar. I’m afeared.
                         The Senate holds so many a graybeard
                         That wishes thee no good.

Caesar:                                                    Zounds, I’ll be late.
                       Enter Cheneyus and various conspirators

                         What is th‘ o’clock?

Cheneyus:                                      Caesar, ‘tis stricken eight.

Caesar:              I thank you for your pains and courtesy.
                                           Enter McCainus
                        With Anus here, Dear, none can hurt us, see!
                        My noble Anus, I am overjoyed.
                                     Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2
Sponsor 2:        For itchy anus, pesky haemorrhoid,
                        Use Preparation H, expel your gripes
                        With cooling gel, with medicated wipes,
                        With ointment, cream, suppository gun
                        Blast out your pain, return to anal fun.
                                            Exit sponsor 2

McCainus:         Likewise, most noble Caesar. I come here,
                        To follow thee where’er with all good cheer.

Caesar:             Good friends, go in and taste some wine and cheese,
                        Then to the Senate go, that house of sleaze.
                                   Exeunt omnes, dancing the rumba, Rovius tripping over his frock     

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