(adapted from Richard III, Act V, Scene 3 with apologies to W. Shakespeare, Kit Marlowe, Oxford, Darby, Elizabeth I and all the other usual suspects.)
BOSWORTH FIELD, May 7
Give me another golf cart: bind up my bone spurs.
Have mercy, Mikey! — Soft! I did but dream.
O coward conscience, thou dost dare afflict me?
My thumbs turneth blue tweeting past midnight
While Coke spittle drips from my snarl purse-ed lip.
What? Do I fear? Congress? Those I can't buy?
Donald loves Donald; that is, I am I.
Is there a scoundrel here? No? Yes? Not I!
Then fly. To Mar A Lago. Play golf. Oh, I am sly!
Am I unhinged, Mac burger binged? What? Myself! I?
True fact! I love myself. Wherefore? Well, I'm that kinda guy
That I to myself do for myself
Tho' had I conscience I could hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself!
And think me a villain: yet I lie. I am not.
A stable genius, I speak truth. I do not flatter.
A conscience might have a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue bring a several tale,
And every tale condemn me for a villain.
Perjury! Perjury! That canst be thee.
Lookst thou to thy ratings on FOX TV;
Thou art without sin. Or so says Sean Hannity.
Did not Billy Barr tell the Senate “NOT guilty!”
How could I despair? All good creatures love me.
I do not foresee how they could shove me
out of the White House on the street by myself
replaced by Pence or somebody less than myself.
Methinks the Dems still believe I will topple.
They are unaware I don't follow estoppel.*
No one canst ever take vengeance on Donald.
[updated 5/8/2019 11:04 a.m.]
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*a rule of evidence whereby a person is barred from denying the truth of a fact that has already been settled
