7 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 2 Scene 3

                    Enter Scooterus on a street, disguised in drag, reading a letter

Scooterus:        ‘Caesar, beware of Chenie, take thou heed!’
                         For thus play I a double-crossing deed.
                       
                                     Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:        You double-cross, and we do double-charge
                         At Halliburton; we are thou writ large.
                                                            
                                             Exit sponsor 1

Scooterus:         My master’s orders have I now fulfilled,
                         To New York’s Times I leak, to Hamburg’s Bild,
                         To Paris’ Figaro, and to a host
                         Of others, not the least Washington’s Post;
                         The knowing lies, omissions, false intell-
                         Igence, hyped rumours, all the poisoned well
                         Of fibs and whoppers, hokum, bosh and bull
                         That Caesar wove at Chenie’s push and pull.
                         Alone he knows not how the dog to wag,
                         E’en think himself out of a paper bag
                         He cannot, but that Chenie show the way
                         To think, speak, act each moment of the day.
                         But I digress. The point I wish to note,
                         My leaks will lead the senators to vote
                         Him out, and my boss in. But should it fail,
                         A chad too dimpled, and Caesar prevail,
                         Then have I here insurance policy:
                         ‘O, dear my lord, did I not caution thee
                         Of their foul schemes?’ Thus will I have an in
                         Should Chenie fail and Bushie Caesar win.
                         Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,
                         And as a suitor, hand him this my song.
                                                                
                                              Exit, shuffling off to Buffalo

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     

5 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 2 Scene 1

                               Enter Cheneyus in his orchard

Cheneyus:         What, Scoot’rus, ho! – I sleep not in this storm
                         My mind doth ponder wiles so multiform

Scooterus:         Called you, my lord?    

Cheneyus:                                         Indeed, I toss and turn,
                         My brain doth itch, my upper thighs do burn…
                       
                                   Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Sponsor 2:          With itches, scratch not! Monistat the beast
                          Will vanquish, o’ercoming vaginal yeast.
                          Please note, with all our pharmaceuticals
                          Our ads contain a few express sequels:
                          The side effects - said fast and under breath -
                          Madness include, Tourette’s, and even death.

                                               Exit sponsor 2

Cheneyus:           The itch is in the brain. Should I inhale
                          That Monistat to cure what doth me ail?
                                    
Vox populi:         There’s nought to staunch his mind’s noxious discharges
                          That more than fill ten New York garbage barges.

Will S.:               Methinks I’ve been kidnapped in my own play
                          By sponsors, actors' booboos; out ‘f my way!
                          When I did sign the contract but of late
                          You said it was but merely to update.

Writing C.            Sweet Will, dear Will, be patient, do forbear,
                           For ‘tis our way now; they are everywhere,
                           The running comment’ry pundits, the press;
                           The admen are our minutemen – a mess;
                           And industry and lobbyists buy Congress
                           And money trumps all else, I do confess,
                           E’en art.

Cheneyus:                          As I was saying, thus my brain,
                           O Scooterus, strives might’ly to explain
                           The scope of Rummie’s words and his intent:
                           Will he unfurl his schemes to full extent?
                       
                                [A loud knock breaks through the thunder]

                           Who’s at the gate? Go see!
                       
                                          Exit Scooterus
                         
                                                                  Ah me!
                
                              Re-enter Scooterus with pile of papers in hand

Scooterus:                                                                ‘Tis she
                           Our very own Tempesta called, that we
                           Might see the latest polls and focus groups;
                           The ebb and flow of people’s views and
                       
                                                          Gestures expansively
                                                                                                        Oops!

                                 He stoops to gather up the papers he’s just sent flying
                
                           They’re here, my lord.

Cheneyus:                                               Now let me see! ‘Tis clear
                           Unanimously they my person cheer:
                          ‘Chenie, thou sleep’st. Awake, and see thyself!
                          ‘Amidst this mess thou stay’st upon the shelf?
                          ‘Awake! Stand up! Speak out! Strike forth! Redress!’
                           And thus my person do they all address.
                                                                         
                                   [Another loud knock].  Exit Scooterus

                           Since Rummie first did whet my brain ‘gainst Caesar
                           I’ve struggled day and night with this brain-teaser,
                           To stay myself, or else to clip his wings
                           With action in the Congress? For his strings
                           No longer can I pull as was my wont,
                           For in his prideful mind a larger font
                           Sees he, no longer my obedient puppet
                           But more and more a headstrong uppity muppet.
                           He even dares to think he’s president,
                           Not just my White House dummy resident.
                          
                                                Enter Scooterus

Scooterus:          Sir, ‘tis your brother Rummie at the door,           
                          Ashcroftus, too, and half a dozen more. 

                                   Enter the conspirators

Rummeus:          Good morrow, Chenie, do we trouble you?

Cheneyus:          You are as welcome as the morning dew.
                          What watchful cares do interpose themselves
                          Betwixt your eyes and night?

Rummeus:                                                    Betwixt ourselves
                          Let us now speak.
                       
                                Cheneyus and Rummeus huddle

Ashcroftus:                                 At last the dawn doth dare
                          To break.

Nortona:                          Then I must chastely coif my hair
                          To look my best today.

Ashcroftus:                                        But sweet Tempesta,
                          Amore mio, you always look-a de best-a.

Nortona:             But why the funny accent, enamorato?

Ashcroftus:         A trick once taught me by Alfonse D’Amato
                          Who mocked Judge Ito with his China-speak.

                                                              [Ruckus in the wings]

Writing C.           Gadzooks! What’s happening, Will? No longer meek,
                          The characters do text forsake, and spoil,
                          Bedirty, sully, slime, befoul and soil
                          Thy words divine with drivel of their own.
                          Control them!

Will S.:                                    That I try, but overblown
                        With their own wind, forsooth, like Frankenstein
                        They blunder on a path that is not mine.
                        Now, Come on, boys! Boys? Gal?
                       
                                Cheneyus and Rummeus un-scrum

Cheneyus:                                                            Then be it so
                        And I will follow thee as heel to toe.

Rummeus:        Good golly, is it not as toe to heel,
                        Or else we backward march, not on, I feel?
                                      
Cheneyus:        Whatever! Thou hast won me to thine ends.
                        Caesar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends,
                        Let’s kill him boldly…

Writing C.                                          ‘Sdeath,Will, stop the clock!
                        Hast thou forgot, thy good sense run amok?

Cheneyus:        Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
]
Writing C.         Will! FBI! Hush! Quiet!  Bodkins odds!

Cheneyus:        Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.

Writing C.         Please, please, dear Will, thy quill is tapped. Gad! Zounds!
                        Remember? Gitmo! Death verboten! Please!

Will S.:             A-napping deep, upcatching on my zees,
                        Was I. Forgive me!

Writing C.                                     So, not kill, impeach!

Will S.:              Ay, that Will will, as fair as any peach.

Nortona:            Like my complexion, pure as peach and cream.

Ashcroftus:        Oh poor Tempesta, dream! Dream on! On dream!

Will S.:              Boys! Gal! No fighting! Get on with the play!
                                                                                
Rummeus:          O Chenie, do explain that sneaky way
                         Thou speakest from the corner of thy mouth.

Cheneyus:          Whenever I send matters going south
                          - Which, by the way, I’m doing all the time -
                          I droop my lip as though I’m spewing slime.
                          Thus doth the corner at the left decline.

Rummeus:          I love it, Chenie, suits you mighty fine.

Cheneyus:          Now hear how I’ll advance our sneaky plot
                          I’ll leak the lies, the ploys, the whole damn lot
                         That wagged our dog to war into Eye-rak,
                         How Caesar lied, misled, turned white to black,
                         The WMDs that all along
                         He knew existed not, the whole damn song
                         About Saddam’s Osama link – Chrissake! –
                         And all that phoney Niger yellowcake.
                         ‘Tis true I pushed for war and cheered it on,
                         But that was as a stalwart neocon.
                         Then Rovius urged, too, Saddam’s ejection
                         So as to win the forthcoming election,
                         But Junior had but one goal in his mind,
                         That his testosterone not lag behind, 
                         That it be proven loud and clear and strong
                         That he possess by far a mightier dong
                         Than does his Poppy. Bush one ne'er did get
                         To Baghdad, fearsome as a virgin; yet
                          Full thither did the son through deserts toil.
                       
                                    Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:         Did I hear virgin? Use our virgin oil
                         From finest Halliburton olives.
                                                
                                                       Exit sponsor 1

Writing C.                                                           Zeus!
                         The ads leave to the admen, Will! The juice
                         Of olives ‘tis not, as ‘twas in thy day,
                         But oil that sends our cars upon their way.

Will S.:             And oils the wheels of government to boot
                        For no-bid contract monkeyshines afoot?

Cheneyus:         Go fuck yourself! How dare you, Will! My firm,
                         I mean my ex-firm’s virgin pure.

Will S.:                                                             That term
                         How durst you use to me! I am not Leahy!

Writing C.          Boys, boys! Enough now! Stop, I do beseech ye!
                         That Leahy fornication I did tell thee
                         To show thee, Will, the lengths to which our Cheney
                         Will go, the murky depths his foes to skewer
                         With rankest idioms straight from Rome's worst sewer,
                         As he did use within the Senate walls
                         That day against poor Leahy.
                     

Cheneyus:                                                        Ouch! My balls!

Writing C.:          Will, stop! Kick him no more, Will! Will! Our play
                          Metastesises, zounds; in ev'ry way
                          Our actors full assume the temperament,
                          The heart, the life, the mind, the soul, the bent 
                          Of each persona they portray, a cast
                          No more but true life figures. And as fast
                          As they do change thou changest, taking part,
                          No more a playwright practicing thine art,
                          Protagonist now, thou art beating hard
                          The whoreson Cheney. Turn back, be the bard
                          Once more.

Cheneyus:                             Help, help! My nose! My heart! My scrotum!
                           My jewels!
                       
Will S.:                                  Thy balls, thou'lt have no sack to tote 'em
                           Ere I have finished thee, thou reprobate.
                           How durst thou tell me t' auto-fornicate!

Writing C.:           Will, Will, as playwright reassume thy role,
                           And leave the stage, lest life-destroying toll
                           Our play doth suffer; let us now proceed
                           E'en if, beyond control, our cast not heed
                           Their lines, their roles.

Cheneyus:                                            Ow! Ouch!

Will S.:                                                                   I'll tear thy cod
                           From off thy bod, thou clay-brained whoreson sod.
                          Thou'lt have no cod for codpiece e'er to cover,
                          Thou knotty-pated mother-effing muvver.
                          You see, o coach, how well I've learned new slangs
                          That you did well apprise me from street gangs.

Writing C.:           Indeed you did, o noblest of the bards,
                           But please let Cheney be. The play's cue cards
                           Hand out once more, and let us now resume
                           Our Bushie play ere night doth day consume.  

Will S.:                OK, I cease. 

Cheneyus:           [Limping, groping his crotch] Thus, Rummie, will I leak
                          Impeachable offences grim and bleak.
                          And as my agent, noble Scooterus -
                          For never finer man from uterus
                          Of woman sprang than he – both far and wide
                          Will leak this hottest news as some aside
                          To hungry press sharks.

Rummeus:                                           Chenie, you’re the man!
                          To sink lower than thee no other can.

Vox populi:         The dirty rotten scoundrels, how I love
                          When, marry, twixt themselves they off the glove.    
                       
                                                        [Clock strikes]

Cheneyus:           Peace, count the clock.

Rummeus:                                           The blessed clock hath stricken

                          Six.

Nortona:                     Time to part post haste.

                                                           Exit Nortona

Cheneyus:                                                   Our plot doth thicken.

Cheneyus:          The sufferance of our souls...

Rummeus:                                                       Arseholes?

Cheneyus:                                                                          I fear
                          You need a hearing aid.
                                
                                                        Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Spnosor 2:                                            For your deaf ear
                          Do use Resound! Hear clearer than a bell!
     
                                                        Exit sponsor 2

Rummeus:          Arseholes?

Cheneyus:                           You lost my train of thought.

Rummeus:                                                                       That’s swell!
                                              
                                      Exit Rummeus, tap dancing. Enter Lynna

Lynna:               O Cheneyus, my lord, you left our bed,
                         Now come, o sex god, come and lay your head
                         Divine and beauteous full upon our pillow,
                         More comely art thou than divine Apollo.

Cheneyus:         O Lynna, thou dost fire up my loins.
                         To bed, ‘struth, my libido now enjoins.
                      
                            [Thunder. Lighting].

                              Cheneyus lifts up Lynna in his arms and trips over the threshold. 

4 - The Tragedy of Bushius Caesar Act 1 Scene 3

                       Thunder and lightning. Enter Ashcroftus and Fristus

Fristus:            Good even, Ashie. Brought you Caesar home?


Ashcroftus:      Indeed! If act as Romans when in Rome,
                       In Washington as washerwomen now
                       Must we too act.

Fristus [aside]                            He rants.

Ashcroftus:                                              Great holy cow!
                       The lightning forks, the thunder claps, such storm
                       Must portents portend way beyond the norm.
                       A common slave (you know him well by sight)
                       Held up his left hand, which did flame and light
                       Like twenty torches joined; and yet his hand,
                       Remained unscorched, untoasted, white and bland.
                       Against the Capitol I met a lion,
                       Who glazed upon me with a stare of iron
                       And went by surly, leaving me unscathed.
                       And hundred ghastly women, all unbathed,
                       Transformed with fear, gathered in a heap,
                       Swore that they saw (nor was it dream of sleep)
                       Men all in fire walk up and down the street.
                       When prodigies as these conjointly meet,
                       Let men not say “’tis nature,” and dismiss
                       Such portents as though nothing were amiss.

Fristus:             Indeed, it might or might not be the shock
                        Of praeternatural things to come, old cock!
                        Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow?

Ashcroftus:       Indeed he doth, yet more lent ears to borrow.  
                        For he did bid McCainus thee to tell
                        To be there present well ere op’ning bell

Fristus:             Good night then, Ashie, this disturbed sky
                        Is not to walk in.

Ashcroftus:                                 Farewell, Fristie, bye! 
                    
                          Exit Fristus, hawking on flagstones. Enter Rummeus

Rummeus:        Who’s there?

Ashcroftus:                            A neocon.

Rummeus:                                              Ash, by your voice.

Ashcroftus:      Your ear is good. A storm of primest choice
                       Befalls us; lightning strikes, the gales do blow,
                       Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

Rummeus:       Those that have known the earth so full of faults
                       That Jove doth sunder heaven’s cobalt vaults.
 [frothing]         For as we know, there are indeed known knowns,
                       The things we know we know (so make no bones);
 [further           We also know there are thus known unknowns,
frothings]         That is we know there are some things we do
[Drowned         Not know. But there are also unknown (phew)
in froth]            Unknowns. The ones we don’t know we don’t know.

Ashcroftus:       Gadzooks! ‘Sblood! Zounds! They must have tazed thee, bro!

Will S.:             Good grief. ‘Tis not enough that I revise
                        The Bushie’s gaffes, that Rummie’s tropes unwise
                        Must I now seek to disentangle?

Ashcroftus:                                                        Help!
                       You’ve lost me. Know I less than a cur’s whelp
                       With known unknowns, forsooth, and knowns unknown
                       Unknown unknowns, known knowns. My mind is blown.

Rummeus:       You are dull, Ashie, and those sparks of life
                       Aborted are by feeble brain’s midwife.
                       Or else you use not. Mull now the true cause
                       Of all our ills: the Senate, house of whores!
                       Our lack of movement shows us womanish.

                                Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 2

Sponsor 2:       A lack of movement? Canst thou not now pisch?
                       Then Metamucil take each day for ease.

                                              Exit sponsor 2

Ashcroftus:      Indeed, they say the Senators do please
                       To make our Bushie by the morrow King.

Rummeus:       Then I’ll allow, good golly, no such thing.
                       I know where I will wear this dagger then.

Writing C.:       Oh, Will, great Will, for Chissakes, hold thy pen
                       Recallest not my warnings. FBI
                       Doth wait, and Gitmo too. Transmogrify
                       The poxing dagger now into impeach.

Will S.:            So be 't!

Rummeus:                      Ahem…ere I will wear this peach.    
                       Rummeus from bondage will deliver Rummeus.
                       Therein, you Gods, with sweetness do you honey us;
                       Therein, you Gods, you tyrants do defeat.
                                                                         
                                                         [Thunder]                                  
  
Ashcroftus:       So every bondman in his hands so fleet
                        Bears pow'r to cancel his captivity.

Rummeus:         Unless of course base inactivity
                         Prevail. So vile is Caesar. But, O grief,
                         From mine own mouth these words stole like a thief.
                                     

Ashcroftus:        You speak to Ashie, and to such a man
                         That is no fleering telltale. Hold. My han’
                       
                                                   They shake hands

Rummeus:          And thus it is that there’s a bargain made
                          For all our plans so caref’lly hatched and laid.

Ashcroftus:         Not laid and hatched? For first doth come the laying.

Will S.:               Stop it, you two, like jackasses a-braying!
                          I wrote this crap and know what I am saying.
                          Get on with it!

Rummeus:                                 The act that we are weighing,     
                          Most bloody, fiery and most terrible.

                                         Enter Nortona, sou’wester glistening with rain

Ashcroftus:         Stand close awhile. Here comes an angry bull
                          Legs kicking high in all this storm in haste.

Rummeus:          Tempesta! I do know her by her waist.
                          She is a friend. Her presence here can win
                          Chenie’s full backing. She can use her spin,
                          So finely honed to super from inferior
                          When known as Gale she lorded o’er Interior,
                          To seal the deal.

Nortona:                                    What fearful night is this!
                          Strange portents have we seen through all this piss
                          That haunt and scare through dark and stormy night.  
                       
                                     Alarums, excursions. Enter sponsor 1

Sponsor 1:           With Halliburton’s midnight oil so bright,
                           Fear not the ghosts, since darkness into day
                           Is turned.

                                              Exit sponsor 1

Rummeus:                           Tempesta dear! Come here, I pray.
                           These written polls and focus groups do take
                           To Chenie’s house, their honeyed words to make
                           Him see the light of day, and to persuade
                           Him clear that ‘pon our side his bed is made.
                           So vouch that he’s won truly to our party,
                           And joins us hale and now pacemaker-hearty.

Vox populi:          The plot doth thicken; who will vict’ry win?
                           The Bushie Caesar? Chenie is his twin
                           In knavery. Which one within a den
                           Of thieves to choose when all’re ignoble men?
                           When ‘mongst them every poxing man jack rouses
                           Such scorn, we say a pox on all your houses.

                                      Exit Nortona, falling flat into a mud puddle.
                                    
Rummeus:           Come, Ashie, you and I will yet ere dawn
                           See Chenie at his house to be our pawn.

Ashcroftus:         O, sits he high in all the people’s hearts,
                          Although his own is broke in many parts.
                          His countenance, like richest alchemy,
                          Turns foe to friend and friend to enemy,
                          And with his mouth and lips leftward a-drooping,
                          His puckered lips like you-know-what a-pooping,
                          That e’en stone-making Gorgon’s face to stone
                          Can he thus turn, and none but he alone. 
                          And thus with him four-square upon our side
                          Our schemes will be a breeze, an easy ride.
                           Do rest assured, no need is there for funk,
                           With him it'll be yet one more true slam dunk. 
                       
                         [Thunder. Lightning].  
                                   
              Exeunt, waists clasped, waltzing to the Ride of the Valkyrie