The Quality Of Mercy – According To The Tories

‘The quality of mercy is not strained’

It droppeth in a form eight pages long

To mitigate for third child born from rape

And only when thou proveth thus was so

For mercy hath a limit, don’tcha know

 

The quantity of mercy hath been changed

All kids thine own may only count as two

For first two count, they are still blessed

An heir and spare, so preordained

And anyone with more hath half a brain

 

The quantity of mercy’s prearranged

In payment thirteen pounds and forty pence

For that should keep a child for ’bout a week

And really thou should have a job that pays thee more

Or two or three. That’s what poor lives are for

 

The quality of jobs is where it’s at

Thou should have got a chairmanship or such

Had friends in all the places that pay well

With bonuses and shares, expense account

For, it is decreed, that such jobs count

 

The quantity of hours in any day

Can now be stretched, extended as seen fit

In such ways, thou always now can work

For working cleanses souls and idle hands

Must always be kept busy, leisure’s banned

 

Thine quality of living’s thine own fault

Thou really must be shamed for being skint

Many hoops there are to make thus fact

And worst of cases filmed to entertain

Distracted public needs to ridicule your pain

 

Thus we count on garnering support

All scapegoats chosen carefully to show

The reason thou can’t clothe and house thine weans

Is not the fault of policies made to address

Our lack of mercy and godawful mess

 

The quality of hardship will be worse

Intervention from the state set to austere

With food banks on the side when things get tough

And Shylock’s basking mates will always bless

Jaws really gave poor sharks the worst of press

 

The quantity of earning’s a moot point

A minimum’s been set so that’s alright

Just live according to your means

And never mind essentials on the rise

Essentials are overrated – Surprise!

 

The quantity of bedrooms hath been fixed

And anyone with extra hath a cheek

And so it hath to be that people move

Tho’ maybe thou hath lived there all thine days

Tough shit, thou should have thought of other ways

 

The quality of disability’s up for grabs

Thou really must be dead to prove thee ail

And when thee are six feet under, be assured

We’ll help thine kids for all of several months

Bereavement’s no excuse for lazy cunts

 

For the quality of mercy hath not changed

It droppeth on the queen and all her breed

No matter just how many crew she hath

For that is just and righteous in these parts

All royalty and knaves move noble hearts

 

The quality of buildings must be saved

But only if they’re big and palace-like

Whereupon all pennies can be found

Even if it’s billions (or for bombs)

Whited sepulchres must be managed with aplomb

 

The quality of business hath been revoked

Some salvaging required to ease the pain

Worry not, tho’, lesser mortals, wheesht

Thou shouldn’t trouble selves with grown-up guff

Phew, that’s a relief, thought we were stuffed

 

The quality of humour’s in dispute

Wanker’s not a word that must be used

Tho’ it hath been sanctioned by the BBC

And worse is done in mercy’s tender name

No, the quality of mercy is not strained, it’s merely pained

*******************************************************

The quality of common sense hath gone astray

Some big boy stole it then he ran away

And blamed it on the suckers who must pay

That could be you or I but let’s not say

The quality of mercy saves the day

*************************************************

With sincerest apologies to Shakespeare who wrote of mercy kindly and with understanding. And who had a sense of humour.

Couldn’t have been a Tory, I’m thinking.

Ooh, look!

 

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Ophelia

She drowned that day for want of love and truth

And suffered blackest depths in silken waves;

Wrapped by grieving cold, unjust of lovers,

Embraced deepest liquidity of graves.

 

Other fault of miscommunication,

Disbelief, flawed lover, by no means brave –

To dwell on words of patent jealousy;

No trust nor second chance this love he gave.

 

Suspended, in timeless vault of darkness,

Eyes closed forever, nothing more to save;

Surrendered heart and soul into river

And damned by love’s mistrust became its slave.

 

‘Sweetheart, you not once believed my loving

If so easily heart has misbehaved.

Cherish only what was held between us,

A love, time was, assumed we two had craved.’

The Politics Of Snobbery

Here on my mountain

With magnificent view,

I can look far below with disdain

At all of the plebs beneath me;

All those who, for me, have no name.

 

 

Smiling with sweet condescension,

A patronising nod to their need.

I sit in the lap of the gods;

On ambrosia and nectar we feed.

 

 

Such rich repast would merely confuse

The illiterate palate below.

Throw them a little education,

But obscure it so they really won’t know.

 

 

Blind them with science

And ambiguity,

Ensure inaccessible form.

Return to elite education.

Keep lack of knowledge the norm.

 

 

Buy them a pint and a promise,

Pretend you’re impressed with their ways,

Retire to your fort in the forest above

And damn them with faintest of praise.

 

 

This human nature,

With aim so select,

Denies the purpose of word,

Ponders and bewails the glorious arcane;

Guards enlightenment with sword.

 

 

Only for some;

And then, just a few.

Greek and Latin observe.

Shakespeare is king

And there’s only one way

For educated man to serve.

 

 

We serve the word

And the word serves us.

Creativity has many faces.

Elitist snobs with distorted views

Divide all people and races.

 

 

Your mountain view, though elevated,

Sees only distant truth.

Partial disclosure is really a lie.

Effete snobbery, uncouth.