Tied in tangles, I was nearly blinded
by the mealy-mouthed and mangle-minded
heirarchies of pedant, eternally
refusing to even discuss why a GBS
might piss on a Shakespeare, no less.
Romans, countrymen lend me your ears
that’s nice my educated dears
but to what end all the braying
what exactly are they saying
these stagecraft gents?
Virtuosity pales next to nobler intents.
With regal shenangigans the plays of the bard
are heavily larded. These courtiers and wariors
are human, yes, but these plays have little to do
with the lives of ordinary men – but come again
Major Barbara and sing us the insights
of the sharp-tongued Fabian –
for pretty speech will never replace
concern for the human condition.
[The plays attributed to Wm. Shake-Speare might well be seen as the very foundation of Modern English, but the purpose of language is – or should be – the enlightenment of society at large, not a means of endoctrinating passivity – an unquestioning acceptance of the status quo derived from the so-called divine rights of kings. In passing, a boorish, semi-literate pinch-penny merchant from Stratford never wrote so much as a playbill in his life! I think the canon was written by an Italian jew named John Florio, but whoever it was, it wasn’t Wm Shaksper of Warwickshire.]