1. BRUTUS APOSTROPHIZES.
(Rodgers's "You Took Advantage of Me")
Caesar, I was once your bosom
pal,
Up until the Feast of Lupercal.
You saw the crown
And turned it down,
So you look ambitious to me.
Come the Ides of March, I'll run you through;
It'll do no good to cry, "Et tu?"
My righteous stabs
Will pierce your abs,
'Cause you look ambitious to me.
Rome was a republic until today,
Which rather gets my goat.
A quick assassination's the only way
To save our right to vote.
Murmur "au revoir" but not "good-bye";
I've a hunch we'll meet at Philippi,
So what the heck?
I'll cash your check,
'Cause you look
ambitious to me.
2. OTHELLO SOLILOQUIZES; IAGO APOLOGIZES.
(Fisher's "Chicago")
Iago,
Iago—
That son of a bitch!
Speaking of which,
Iago,
Iago—
He made me a pitch;
I bought it.
Is it any wonder I blame the name
Of Iago—
Iago?
The underhanded, two-faced, sadistic snitch—
And son of a bitch!
That swanky
New hankie
Was not the McCoy—
Merely a ploy.
He used me. She never had a boy toy.
Sure, I admit I blew my own life;
I was the one who wasted my wife:
But Iago?—
Iago pulled the switch—
That son of a bitch!
Othello,
Othello
Had one little quirk—
Goin' berserk!
Othello,
O-schmello—
Why shouldn't I smirk?
I've earned it.
Mother Nature made a mistake in mak-
Ing Othello
Othello—
The intercontinental ballistic jerk—
Mad as a Turk!
That skanky
Old hankie
Ignited a flame
Nothing could tame.
So sue me—but let's not play the blame game.
Maybe I stepped across the odd line;
Granted, perhaps, the plan was all mine;
But Othello?—
Othello made it work—
By goin' berserk!
I point at him,
And he points at me;
Still, there's a point
On which we agree:
Desdemona,
That groaner,
Was the cause of all the fuss.
Don't blame it on us!
3.
THE THANE HYPERBOLIZES.
(Coward's "Why Do the Wrong People Travel?")
Why must the Scots always
have hallucinations
At the
sight of a drop of blood?
At the first hint of plasma,
A gory
phantasma
Besets my dreams and robs
my rest;
By 2:00
a.m., I'm bucking for a Rorschach test.
The Birnam
Wood
Has politely stood
Where it stood from time immemorial,
So I can't
think why
Every passer-by
Should
be suddenly looking so arboreal.
Lord knows,
we Scots aren't like superstitious Haitians—
We've a far higher class of
mud;
So why, oh why all these weird visitations
At the sight of a drop of
blood?
Is this
a dagger—
Or a drop of the royal blood?
—I
see before me?
I suspect that it's only
blood.
I'm merely
asking:
What's the deal with the Scots and blood?
4. ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD . . . RINGERS.
(Davis and Akst's "Baby Face")
Rosencrantz—
Is that guy Guildenstern or Rosencrantz?
I wish they'd cool it with the song-and-dance—
Take a stance!
Choosing-
'S tru-
Ly random—
The thing
To do
Is brand 'em.
At a glance,
I'd say it's easier to dope out high finance,
Than ever hope to learn
If that was Guildenstern—
Or was that one Rosencrantz?
Guildenstern—
I'm never certain if it's Guildenstern;
I look for Rosencrantz but, when I turn—
Guildenstern!!
Some skill
Is-
N't gelling—
I'm still
A whiz
At telling
Bert from Ern',
And differentiating Shirley from Laverne;
But I don't stand a chance
With freakin' Rosencrantz,
Or that gol-durned Guildenstern!
5. OWEN GLENDOWER SELF-ADVERTISES.
(Hargreaves's "Burlington Bertie from Bow")
I'm weird,
And I'm mystical—
Feared—
Egotistical:
Heaven and earth
Shook, at my birth!
Anyway, so I was told.
I join
With the English, but
Only so long as it suits;
With two from the North
Against Henry IV,
For the time being, I'm in cahoots.
I’m Owen Glendower,
And I have the power
To call from the vasty deep
The spirits and sirens
Who haunt those environs
(Except when they're fast asleep).
As smoothly as butter
My mantras I mutter,
'Til folk within earshot believe me a nutter:
I'm Welch,
Welch;
I have but to belch,
And the doughtiest Englishman quails.
Whether York or Lancaster,
I'm still my own master—
I'm Owen Glendower of Wales.
