Fragment of a new Shakespeare play, “The Lamentable and Piteous Tragedy of Rupert, Thane of Murdoch”

Shakespeare (being immortal) is alive and well in London, and he is sending me fragments of a play in progress, The Lamentable and Piteous Tragedy of Rupert, Thane of Murdoch, starring the Royals, the Murdochs, Rebekah the Witch of Brooks, various Posh Tarts, Flash Blondes, Wankers, Americans, two Low Fellows (Hardonico and Sardonico, of course) and Pizza Delivery men. Excerptus:

Enter Rebekah Brooks, Solus

Twist must I, very slowly, in the wind
The hanged witch I, to appease the jackdaws:
Or like unto the sacrifice led to slaughter
I, Thane of Rupert’s virtual daughter?
Meet must it be that I, a piece of meat
Be thrown to the mediums of media,
The Harridans and thugs, bullies and sots,
Whom I despise though thought one of them?
Be laughed to scorn and chaff’d in flame,
There to abide with my red hair in clink?
To fight the bints in woman’s gaol
To wash from the common low water pail
To have my Prada untimely torn
From my Bosom, o curse that I was born!
To be seduc’d into deeds vile unspoke
I, whose life is posh and most bespoke?
Nay, I shall survive, nay thrive, and be veng’d
On those who mock my o’erthrown state.
Sean Hoare, that bore and incompetent twat
Is dead as dead shall more dogs bodies be!
My ministers make murder look suicide
Placing black instruments by his side.
Dare they gyve me? Dare they shoot their lips?
Dare such as they pretend to be the good
The little people who cannot get a table
With, whom David Bowie to schmooze unable?
Nay, I shall tell such a tale to the cops
That shall damn them all save Rupert:
Him do I love with wicked love
A thing incestuous dark and deep.
Come, Furies and ministers of Hell
Graymalkin, I come, I hear thy Bell:
Paddock calls, and Flibbertigibbet
All my foes shall ‘scend the Gibbet!


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