(With apologies to William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon, Ben Jonson, Sir Walter Raleigh or whoever else may have had a hand in the writing of "The Tragedy of King Richard the Third" in the first place.)

Rolling Rock Club, Ligonier, Jan. 8.
Enter Vice King Richard "Dick" Cheney and advisers -- the Duke of Defense, Robert M. Gates, and Lord Never Sorry, Bush Redux.

Cheney: Let's pitch our cabanas and guns here, even here on this happy hallowed hunting ground, east of Pittsburgh where pheasants and ducks are slow.

[Cheney inspects his shotgun. Lord Never Sorry Bush glances at the gun nervously. Cheney notices. His upper lip curls with delight.]

Cheney: Lord Never Sorry, why look you so sad? My aim is true these days.

[Lord Never Sorry smiles, but doesn't take his eyes from Vice King Cheney's shotgun.]

Bush: My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. In fact, I'm not missing any sleep at all. Got anybody's mail for me to read? And, do you mind pointing that somewhere else?

Cheney: Duke of Defense --

Gates: Present, most gracious Vice King.

Cheney: We must have a surge in Iraq, must we not? It does not matter what a Democrat thinks.

Gates: We must both give and take, my loving Vice King, now that congressional oversight has returned.

[Cheney grumbles at hearing bad news.]

Cheney: Up with my cabana! Here will I lie in wait for birds with wings tied and furry mammals drugged and slow.

[Soldiers quickly set up Vice King Cheney's cabana.]

Cheney: How many soldiers do we need to complete the job of wiping out the Babylonian insurgents?

Gates: Ten or twenty thousand is our utmost power. And there, we're only counting those already indentured to the military.

Cheney: Are you sure? Our battalions need to be four or five times that before we can unfurl the old "Mission Accomplished" banner again in good conscience.

[Vice King Cheney lifts his gun and fires at a nearly unconscious goose carried aloft by a Secret Service agent. The agent drops the bloody bird's carcass and runs in terror.]

Cheney: Hahahahaha. Like James Brown would have said: 'That felt good.'

Bush: You mean 'I feel good,' don't you, Vice King? Listen, I asked you 20 times today. Do you have any mail for me to read? I don't need a warrant, you know.

[Cheney sneers; his upper lip exposing teeth.]

Cheney: Come, let us survey the American vantage on the ground on Capitol Hill. Call for men of sound direction as long as they agree with us. Let's lack no discipline, make no delay; For tomorrow is a busy day.

[Exit the stage]

[Enter on the other side of Capitol Hill, House Commander of Formerly Desperate Democrats Mistress Nancy Pelosi and her retinue, Sir Harry Reid, Sir Chuck Schumer and Sir Charles Rangel].

Pelosi: The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow.

[Reid, Schumer and Rangel stare at Pelosi with utter incomprehension.]

Pelosi: Sirs Harry, Chuck and Charles, you shall all bear the Democratic standard.
Give me some ink and paper in my office:
I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
Limit each leader to his committee,
And part in just proportion our small power.
Now, let us consult upon tomorrow's business;
In to my office, the air is raw and cold out here.

[The Democratic leaders withdraw to Mistress Pelosi's palatial suite to plan opposition to Vice King Cheney's "surge."]

[Enter his cabana, Vice King Cheney, Duke of Defense Gates, Mistress War Enabler Condi Rice and Lord Never Sorry, Bush Redux.]

Cheney: What time is it?

Bush: Time for you to start answering some of my questions. I call the shots around here. I'm the Decider, remember?

Rice: It's supper-time. Time to eat and head back to Washington.

Cheney: I will not sup tonight.
Give me some ink and paper, maybe some buckshot while you're at it.
Are all my guns laid out?

Gates: They are my liege; and all things are in readiness.

Cheney: Good, Duke of Defense, hie thee to thy charge; use careful watch; choose trusty sentinels. Watch out for The New York Times.

Gates: I go, my lord.

Bush: Now wait a darn minute. He's not your lord. I am. I'm the Decider. I can read your mail if I want to.

[Vice King Cheney rolls his eyes.]

Cheney: Mistress War Enabler?

Rice: Yes?

Cheney: Give James A. Baker a call; bid him bring his influence to bear
Before sun-rising, lest his charge George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night.

Bush: What? Are you threatening me?

Rice: Hush! We have to go. You have a speech to give tomorrow about this administration's approach to the war. You'd better practice delivering it.

Bush: What am I going to say?

Rice: We're trying to figure that out now.

Cheney: Is ink and paper ready?

Rice: It is.

Cheney: Bid my guard watch; leave me.

[Vice King Cheney retires to his cabana. Exeunt Gates, Rice and Bush. Soon, soft snoring from Cheney's tent can be heard.]

[The ghost of Saddam Hussein enters Vice King Cheney's cabana.]

Saddam: Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow!
Think how thou had me hung in my prime, taunted by Moktada's cronies outside of Baghdad: despair, therefore, and die!
Be cheerful, Democrats; for the wronged souls
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:
Saddam's boys, Uday and Qusay, are on your side whether you like it or not.

[The ghosts of Uday and Qusay enter the cabana.]

Uday: Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow! I --

Cheney: You deserved everything you got you miserable wretches. I'd have taken you out myself if I had the chance.

Qusay: Well, then are you at least having second thoughts about all of this?

Cheney: Let me grab my gun. I'll spell it out for you.

[Ever cowardly, the ghosts of Saddam, Uday and Qusay scamper away.]

Cheney: Wimps. That goes for you, too, Saddam.

[Cheney turns and finds himself surrounded by the ghosts of over 3,000 American soldiers and hundreds of thousands of ordinary Iraqis killed during the war. He freezes.]

All ghosts simultaneously: Let us sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow!

[Cheney slowly awakes from sleep, inexplicably repentant.]

Cheney: O no: alas! I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself
I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree:
Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! Guilty!'

[Standing outside the cabana, Lord Never Sorry, Bush Redux overhears Cheney's confession.]

Bush: Hey! If you think I'm gonna give a speech like that tomorrow night, you're out of your mind!