Transfer Deadline Day A Shakespearean Tragedy

> Hail! Fellows and well met.
   What stories shall we hear today,
   In noble comfort, from January's rasp
   Which proud Princes today shall fall,
   To mammons greedy grasp?
   First to fair Emirates field we go,
   Has noble Wenger, the purse strings loosed,
   What say you fellow?

> Hail all and welcome to this proud Arsenal,
  Nay, nary a stir, no bolster for the ramparts sought,
  Neither approaches for the Spanish Prince,
  To take up cunning Catalan throne,
  Just Carlos Vela, out on loan.

> Aye, the coffers safe, so onward a league or more, we go
   To leafy Lane, and mischievous Harry's realm,
   Pearl of England, scourge of the French,
   Upon whose wisdom we earnestly wait,
   What cunning stratagem does he plot,
   Tell all, Comrade.

> Alas there's nary here to tell,
   'lo temptation may be great
   None have taken up the call'
   To succour now this vale of tears,
   Of honours bereft, now fifty years!

> Fie and fie again!
   May foul Redknapps corpse be racked,
   And split and spoilt, then,
   For carrion upon the gibbet hung,
   I thought old Harry liked a bung?
   But hold, whats this I hear,
   Oh proud English, away, away
   To fair Anfield and tumultous news, what news
   I prithee?

> Aye, tumultous indeed,
   No sooner hath King Kenneth, that noble Scot,
   Secured the biting tumbler, squire of Amsterdam,
   Who hath foiled proud Nubian, with crafty palm,
   Now treachery!
   Doth every subject cry,
   For London doth Prince Fernando fly.
   Upon a pyre
   Is his bloodied armour thrown,
   And every squire and son doth wail and moan,
  "A plague, a plague upon our house"
   And with bloody shriek and racking cough,
   Proclaim,
  " He took the cash and buggered off"!

> Hold there man,and calmed be,
   For we hear glad tidings from the north,
   Ye have the nettle grasped, and have
   A champion for champions worth,
   Tall and brave, fearless who,
   Was the scourge of the old division two,
   We will away now to the Tyne,
   What say you now Sir?

> Lord Pardew in his house is shocked,
   For nary a whisper did he hear,
   Of foul Astleys cunning plan,
   Nor ere suspect that he a pawn
   For mightier men and strategem,
   Assured of funds this coming spring, would wait,
   And blocked and vexed would be,
   For Robbie Keane and Thierry Henry.
   For now 'tis him, his squires convince,
   That Barton be their lordly Prince
   And avoiding relegation be
   Their one remaining strategy.

> Yea! words of wisdom said.
   But now to London we must fly,
   To that foul Russians odious lair,
   Where kissed and rubbed the sheckles be,
   And eyebrow arched so cunningly!

> Hail all fellows and welcome made,
   'tis Prince Fernando who doth stride,
   Through old Stamford's verdant glade, and
   We gathered here at Carlo's gate,
   Wonder how, accommodate
   Anelka, Drogba and Torres be
   In an offensive 4-3-3!

> So here we endeth be!
   And to our banquet we repair
   To mull the days portents with mutton
   Chop and turkey leg,
   And wine and whiskey be cask and barrel!
   35 million for Andy fuckin' Carroll!!

   Exeunt all.