Bloody Bill

 I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. I blame it all on the plays of the Bard. No counterfeit feelings are faked there. True love, they teach, can be hard.  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare, and the furious battles of yore. The glory encrusted and caked there, stain the pages of history with gore.  I could give you a pamphlet, on the pride of Prince Hamlet, and the bodies that litter the stage. In his testosterone funk, this prototype punk, junked the state, his family, the age.  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. I blame it all on plays like Othello. The depiction of evil it makes there: all green-eyed monsters are yellow!  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. On plays like A Winter's Tale. The exile of loved ones forsaken there, pay their tribute to the jealous male.  I can give you a journal, of Sonnets eternal, of horizons receding, and the briefness of life. You too can go crazy in pursuit of dark ladies, and that handsome young man, that might be a wife!  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare, and the wisdom that marks the Fool. On the hubris and folly of King Lear, who was vain, mean-spirited, and cruel.  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare, like a Timon that curses the world. That suffers not one even break there, and remains, to the end, unfulfilled.  I could give you a dossier, on Shylock and Portia, and the fixed compound interest on flesh. With the merchant's resurgence, there's the moral detergent, and the scour of satire and jest.  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. On plays like Richard the Third. The knowing self-hatred displayed there, resolving in murder absurd.  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. I blame it all on plays like Macbeth. The fate of great kingdoms are staked there; on domestic ambitions and death.  So why should it please ya, to see Julius Caesar, a victim of noble betrayal? With true friends like Brutus, to help execute us, what other excuses to fail?  I blame it all on bloody Bill Shakespeare. I blame it all on the plays of the Bard. This pain in the heart, how it aches there; one more star-crossed lover is scarred.