Shall I compare thee to Theresa May?
Who art more wobbly and more desperate,
Rough winds do shake the Amber Rudd’s of May,
And power’s lease have all too short a date,
Sometime to hot the eye of Boris shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And a fair lead from fair sometimes declines,
By chance or Brexit’s changing course untrimmed,
Corbyn’s eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair he ow’st,
Nor shall Blair brag Jez wand’rest in his shade,
When through internal fights two times he growest,
So long as Jez can breathe and eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives hope to we.