Specie: Thoroughly Modern Willie
 

Bill Greenwell and Jan D Hodge worthily upheld our honour this week. Perhaps our other songs couldn't be sung. I could sing mine, given encouragement. Never mind. Here's something we will all excel in.


No. 2682
Thoroughly modern Willie
You are invited to submit an extract from the diary of a Shakespearean character (150 words/16 lines) who has woken up to find him or herself transported to the present day. Please email entries to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 19 January.

correction
 

No, belay that. I was stupidly correcting something that was already correct.

No you weren't, Bazza. You were drawing my attention to my error, now, as you say corrected. Thanks.

Kudos, Bill and Jan.

I'm giving up. I can't do better than I did for this one, so I think I'm wasting a lot of time entering every week.

Chin up, Roger These threads wouldn't be the same without you. I thought my Iago was a certain winner but Lucy handed it the frozen mitt. Bruce and the spider, you know. And time spent wrestling with rhymes and metres can never be time wasted.

Cripes, I sound like a headmaster. I must stop doing that.

Thanks, John. I don't mean to whine, but it's been a long time since my last win and I was pretty sure this would end the dry spell. When folks here say you've nailed it, they're generally right. But I suppose it will end up in a Light instead, where my odds have always been a great deal better than with Lucy, so it hasn't been a total waste. At least it's not one of those topics that don't travel well beyond the confines of the competition.

ah so
 

Phew, & I thought it was the White Widow. Ta muchly, John.

This blank verse stuff is easy. No wonder Bill wrote all those plays. Never mind the quality. Feel the width. Do you think Lucy will know the king referred to?


Thoroughly Modern Willy

I used to whine because I was a king
And wished myself a shepherd on a hill.
But here and now the shepherd option stinks.
I can be paid for doing bugger all,
And be a king unkinged on benefits
For housing, children, being unemployed.
To lie abed while others sweat to work,
To watch TV, to place a bet or two,
To smoke the weed and drink the lager beer,
To father bastards on complaisant slags,
To stir the pot with sundry petty thefts,
A bike, a mobile phone, a credit card.
(I know a man who’ll pay me cash in hand.)
Oh happy life, most happy, happy life,
A long farewell to suffering and strife!

the undeserving poor
 

That's more Daily Mail than Speccie, John.

Too right, sport. But then Henry VI was mad and therefore probably an avid Daily Mail reader.