Alas, poor Priebus. We’ve known so many of thy faces. What when Our Campaign of Greatness first began, didst thou not entreat us to, “tone down” Our rhetoric as thou termed it.
And then, as Our winning ways processed anon, and We commanded forth Our great proscription of the Moors, thou professed We were inconsistent with thy honourable values.
And once again when spies didst snoop upon Our private whisperings, thou joined the hoards and scorned Us as if We spake profanely of Our wenches even in their absence.
But, yet, in less than a summer’s passing didst thou turn from scorning foe to fanning sycophant.
By the autumn, when Our greatness was all but won, how then, thou didst hang upon Our glory as if thy hunger for Our victory grew greater with every ballot.
At last, We knew We had thy pledge. For then, amidst Our multitude of well contrived frenzies, didst thou stand so firmly and devotedly by Our side.
When We, to Our throne ascended, amidst Our frantic glee and bedlam
Good Priebus didst enjoin our council, ay.
When Thrice we moved to ban the Moors, then thrice did Priebus abet us, by and by.
When we returned allegiance to Our Russian benefactors, Priebus conveyed official blessing
And yet, when, lo, his leave We so cruelly requested
Priebus didst yea, merrily surrender it!
Be there such men with so low moral foundation they so willingly dwindle from Our podium and are yet still so willingly discarded?
Pathetic! Thy name is Priebus!
Exit Priebus