TO VOTERS, ON GOING TO THE WAR

Tell me not, voter, I'm unkind,
   That from New Labour's lie,
Which claimed your faith and trusting mind,
   To war and arms I fly.

True, a new master now I chase,
   The new Bush in the House;
And with a stranger faith embrace
   A drunk, a crook, a louse.

Yet my inconstancy is such
   As fools will yet adore;
I could not scorn you half so much,
   Scorned I not honour more.

                    (Apologies to Richard Lovelace)

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