The Corner


To filibork or merely bork: that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler on the Hill to offer

the stings of NARAL’s outrageous court tunes,

Or talk storms against Alito’s doubles,

And by not ceasing, end him? Defy that creep;

It’s war; and against that creep to make no end of the not-so-factual talk

the left is heir to, ’tis a repudiation

Devoutly to be wish’d. Defy that creep;

That creep: we’ll lance his scheme: ay, there’s the rub;

For putting that creep to the test, what votes may come

When we have shoveled all that verbal soil,

Must give us pause: there’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long speech;

For who would bear the toot-their-horns of each,

The senator’s song, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of despised votes, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he might nucleic make

With a fair option? who would filis bear,

As they preen and sweat under a TV light,

So the scent of political death.

That well discover’d country from whose bourn

few losers return, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those rules we have

Than fly to others we know not of

Thus nuke-license does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And political exercises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.

Soft you now!

The fair O’Connor! Nymph, in thy opinions

Be all my sins remember’d.


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