An Internet bulletin board discussion of Barack Obama's brazen reversal on the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act made me think of a certain ruthlessly ambitious character, though the character had to undergo a sudden sex change operation to suit my purposes:
What is it he does now? Look how he rubs his hands.
It is an accustom'd action with him, to seem thus
washing his hands. I have known him continue in this a quarter of
President Obama (holding up FISA legislation that's too damn long for me to read all the way through and get my work done today):
Yet here's a spot.
Hark, he speaks. I will set down what comes from him, to
satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—
One; two: why, then 'tis time to do't.
—Hell is murky.—
Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our pow'r to accompt?
—Yet who would have thought the old constitution to
have had so much blood in it?
John McCain, too, has his Shakepearian antecedent:
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulphurous and Osama-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving "activist judges,"
Singe my white head! And thou, all shock-and-awe,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' Iraq!
Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!