Precedent hath naught we can compare:
Wet would be he of soul who could pass by
A sight so sickening in hypocrisy:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Restaurants, pubs, churches, theatres, temples lie
Closed and bankrupt underneath the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
But yet, last evening at the hour of eight
I heard a noise that broke the calm so deep!
No social isolation now, we needs must prate
On ‘our NHS’ and act as sheep
By clapping like dull morons, tis our fate
To find our nation ruined as we sleep.