DUKE FETTERY
So, patience, friends; and place your faith in me.
Nay, not so much in me as history.
In Texas, did we not, like poor Macbeth,
Pluck Arthur from his throne, and stone by stone
Dissemble castles of false Camelot?
Did we not, before that, world wars win?
From out the ruin triumph of those years
Our military industry took shape:
Intelligence, defense, and energy:
The private cousins to a public king,
Triumv’rate face upon one head of state.
Are not these three the faces of Arbusto?
One beatific nod is flood of gold
From public font to our deep bank account,
Providing only that which is our due.
Vouchsafe the money world, we did, from Marx,
And Poverty’s red impulse to rebel.
Astride the earth we stand like firm Colossus:
Republic power hangs between our legs
Whilst little men shake tiny fists at us.
Avoiding footprints is impossible
When godly weight we merely mortals bear.
A project, then, for this new century:
Perpetuate Arbusto’s dynasty;
Monopolize supplies of liquid coal;
Incite hot war so our munitions sell;
Ijaz Mohammad’s head upon a plate.
A banquet table ‘fore us now is ripe,
And golden goblet gulps of honey wine
Do run in spirals down our bloody arms.
So drink up, friends, for now we’ll have our due.
And if our story must unveil a truth,
Then man by money become kings, forsooth.
The Historie of King George II
Act I, iii
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