Thread by @mikegove12

My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While we were out of doors at drinking hour,
A crew of Tories, rude mechanicals,
That piled the dead upon spurious calls,

1/5

Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for the Tories’ judgement day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,
Who PM as presented, in his sport
Forsook his last Queen and did Carrie take
When I did him at this advantage make,
An ass's nole I fixed on his head:

Anon his lusting must be answered,
And forth the mimic comes. When they him spy,
As tabloids that the creeping voters eye,
Or russet-pated lads, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the Sun's report,
Betray themselves and madly suck the lie,

So, at this sight, ‘Huzzah!’ his fellows cry;
And, at this pomp, here the sycophants crawl;
Gross failure prized, cadavers rendered schmaltz.
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;

Foreigners, poor, at these patriots snatch;
Some faith, some hope, from yielders all things catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear,
And left the sweet PM translated there:
When in that moment, so it came to pass,
Great Britain waked and straightway loved an ass.