Our play begins in the court
Of the ruler of America.
Two years after selection,
Through confused criteria
Once mocked as a bumbler, the critics now silent
Events have transformed this young fop to a tyrant.

Enter Ari, the Spokesman
O, who would have foreseen? Two seasons just
Short past that our good ruler from whom none
success did see today would be beloved
by all, his critics once loud, now fall
wordless.

Some seem shocked at how his star rose quickly,
Since in youth he was thought of as
shallow,

Dumb and unstudied. Now, he dines with
Musharraf, royalty, even Sharon.
As a princeling, his view extended not
further than the Mexico, beyond which
their names barely could he mouth
correctly.

Now his many indiscretions of youth,
As do the details of his ascension,
All seem like such mouldy ancient hist’ry
Once thought long past a deep and dark myst’ry.

Few deny prince Dubya entered war
While George The Second sprang from Mars’ red door.

But hark! My introduction has gone too long
The King approacheth!

Enter George II
Howzit going Ari? Who’s the man?
Who’s your Imperious Rex Maximus?

Ari, the spokesman
You are, my lord, my liege, undoubtedly.

George II
And how fares my ratings of approval?

Ari, the spokesman
It doth rise like birds through the sky azure,
From corners all, those who once did mock’d
Now sing your praises loudly and high.

George II
Truly, ‘tis plain for all to see sorely
How they misunderestimated me…
But enough praise. ‘Tis time the duties to
attend. Er…what be my duties today?

Ari, the spokesman
Falldick Cheney craves audience with you.

Enter Falldick Cheney, exit Ari the Spokesman
George, I have some urgent matters to discuss, so if you’d just take a chair and…

George II
Old Man! Speak not with such familiarity;
Nor profess suggestions with smug
regality.

While once I was a virgin, yet unlearned
And needed from you…what was that word?

Falldick Cheney
Gravitas?

George II
Gravitas! How that word did burn my ears,
Though clearly did please your own to hear,
But no more of “gravitas” shall you speak.
Your gravity here, I fear, has grown weak
And the time for your own fading grows near.

Falldick Cheney
Oh!
Your words doth burst this faulty heart o’ mine.
My chest palpitates with agony… limbs
grow weak…big time! A difibulator…
My kingdom for a diffibulator!

Exit Falldick Cheney, re-enter Ari the Spokesman

George II
Tell me, noble Spokesman, with my ratings
so high, if it be properly handled
Would it wound me much in the people’s eyes
If my second in command were bescandled?

Ari, the Spokesman
Well handled, my lord, you would suffer not
On a record of glory, t’would be but a spot.

George II
Then ‘tis time my knowledge I publicly unburdened,
Lest through Enron’s collapse myself I be burned,
But Cheney’s fall might exoneration bring,
I wish to confess; Ari, call Larry King.

Ari, the Spokesman
At once, Sirrah!

George II
And now one more underling to see;
A diplomat skilled both in the art of strategery,
While his services not would I for granted take,
But the depth of his loyalty remains opaque,
Through cunning methinks I would peer through that door.
Send him in, Spokesman Ari, Summon Powell the Moor.

Enter Moor Powell

George II
Moor Powell, how goes the crusade?

Moor Powell
The war, my commander, splendidly goes
Although the accursed bin Laden stays hidden.
In this campaign, my lord, victory is a given,
But in its place a larger quagmire hath rose.

George II
Quag…mire?

Moor Powell
“A troubling situation from which extracation will be difficult.”

George II
Ah. I see. Go on.

Moor Powell
The Inds and the Paks head quickly to war
And from this can only come troubles more.

George II
In a crusade, the solution is simple;
Against Christless foe all troops shall be marshaled!

Moor Powell
They are neither of them Christian, my lord.

George II
What then, are they jews?
Moor Powell, I am confused.

Moor Powell
If my lord would only read the briefings…
I have made the font especially large,
And included ample illustrations.

George II
Enough of this! Tis nearly four,
But before we finish, tell me Moor;
You have served my father, and then I, well.
But you also served the upstart King Will.
Of these lords your services granted,
To whom is your loyalty most deserved.

Moor Powell
To answer you will be no feat,
I obey not the man, but serve only the seat.

George II
Your strategery, It mocketh me.

Moor Powell
I have done my best; you deserve no less.

End of Act 1, Scene 1 of The Chronicle
History of George II.

The author would like to thank noted thespian and Shakespearian scholar David Arthur Narby for his assistance with meter and certain phrases. Joshua Samuel Brown can be reached at phibes@ficnet.net