Satirical Elegy on the Death of ‘Lady’ Thatcher

Guest post by Mick Sullivan

With full acknowledgement to Jonathan Swift’s ‘Satirical Elegy on the Death of a Late Famous General’: 

‘Lady’ Thatcher! - what, dead!
Of old age too, and in her bed!
And could that ‘mighty warrior’ fall,
And so inglorious, after all?
Well, since she's gone, no matter how,
The last loud trump must wake her now;
And, trust me, as the noise grows stronger,
She'd wish to sleep a little longer.
And could she be indeed so old
As by the newspapers we're told?
Fourscore and seven is pretty high;
'Twas time in conscience she should die!
This world she cumber'd long enough;
She burnt her candle to the snuff;
And that's one reason, some folks think,
She left behind so great a stink.
Behold her funeral appears,
No widows' sighs, or orphans' tears,
Wont at such times each heart to pierce,
Attend the progress of her hearse.
But what of that? her friends may say,
She had those ‘honours’ in her day.
True to her profit and her pride,
She made them weep before she died

Come hither, all you empty things!
You bubbles rais'd by finance kings!
Who float upon the tide of state;
Come hither, and behold your fate!
Let pride be taught by her egress,
How mean a thing's a ‘Baroness’;
From all her ill-got honours flung,
Turn'd to that dirt from whence she sprung.

- and for her ‘children’ (or ‘grandchildren’) in the present coalition cabinet – in particular Messrs Osborne and Duncan-Smith – I recommend Swift’s ‘Modest Proposal’ as a source for further ideas on cutting welfare: