POLONIUS CONSIDERS THE GAME PLAN

                       

                        To beguile or be gulled, that is the quest.

                        Whether ‘tis bolder to frame one’s changeful face or –

                        Soft!  Doth the King play the devil, Machiavel?

                        Nay, not a whit.  I am an ass to think on’t.

                        Yet Hamlet, cozened by his father’s brother,

                        Princes it, but acts not right royally i’sooth;

The ingrate fares upon the chameleon’s dish,

Speaking poignards to his red-gilled dame,

Or like foul Tom in falling sickness, wits

Distempered and distraught, wouldst bestir Bedlam.

I small a polecat:  that idle, lecherous loon

Shouldst be whipped at the cart’s arse, wherefore

My demuring damson is cast as dummerer.

O how confuted am I with all this seeming.

Whiles a yesty sea of mischiefs o’erwhelms us.

With hooded eye have I planted spials withal,

For methinks the players feign vile Sodomites,

Tom-rigs to jickajog in mincing mummery,

At the witching hour, like the bat i' the adage.

I’ll fly to my shamefast queen and mistress,

To make secret assay behind the arras.

                                                Michael Small

August17-22, 2010