The Bane of Cawdor

To be King, or not, the question is be that,
Or adage-like, the cat
Whose dripping paws before me shake
Unfished, but dreaming yet of hake.

Countrymen their ears will lend,
When murder thou thy liege and friend.
Who, colossus like the world astride,
Tea tray glinting all espied
Above. So high indeed, a world
Where pigs doth knit, plain and purled.

Waste not thy time thou sallow cur,
Lest stones and sticks make fly thy fur.
A sponger nor a Shylock be,
No man for time and tide the sea
Will wait. While Birnham wood advance,
Quadrille brightly trees will dance.
And on they head Macduff will lay
His sword, and endeth there thy day.


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