William Shakespeare's The Jedi Doth Return

—Well notic’d! Mark me now:
Thy fears all rest upon a tiny word,
A word so small it should not give thee cause
To fret and worry so: that word is “if.”
“If” there were rebels on the forest moon,
“If” they did meet with creatures and form pacts,
“If” then they could our bunker strong destroy,
“If” they had plann’d to strike our Death Star great.
Thine “if” itself the Empire overthrows,
But “if” knows little of reality.
I tell thee true, if I had richer been,
If I had been a politician’s son,
If I were rais’d in wealth and privilege,
If I myself became most powerful,
Why then, I would be Emperor, not guard!
But for the “ifs.”

Guard 1

—Thy point is made, and I
Shall rest my “ifs” and be at ease. Now, if
Thou shalt come with me, we have both been call’d
To rearrange the chairs upon the deck.

Guard 2

If thou shalt lead, I’ll follow, worthy friend.

[Exeunt.

EnterEMPEROR PALPATINEon balcony, withROYAL GUARDS.

Emperor

Our age is but a constant grasp for pow’r,
A time when trust and honor are no more
And all is but a furious race till death.
How doth a person make a life that’s worth
The living? Is’t by love or ventures? Nay:
The one who hath the greatest pow’r prevails.
The politicians grumble, scrape, and grab,
A’fighting o’er their spheres of influence,
The people cringe and whimper ’neath the loads
Plac’d on them by those in authority,
And all in bleak timidity do cow’r
When in the presence of their Emperor.
O what a piece of work are we! I should
Find joy in our humanity, and yet,
To me, what is this quintessence of dust?
A galaxy of vermin searching for
A crumb of what the best do eat, all rul’d
By those who have the appetite for pow’r—
For in a world of darkness only those
Who serve the dark deserve to live and thrive.
Let those naïve and wayward souls who seek
For justice, wisdom, honesty, and right
Endure such suffering as fits their weak
And simple souls. Let those who love be made
To witness how their lov’d ones scream and shriek
And, at the last, forsake e’en those they love
When tortur’d by the mighty hand of pow’r.
Let those who lurch and stumble t’ward the light
Discover, in the moments ere they die,
The light they sought is but a blaster shot,
Lightsaber beam or lightning of the Sith
That shall their wretched life put to an end.
And let the vile Rebellion choke upon
Its own absurd and innocent ideals,
Until each sick’ning, cursèd, backward soul
Who e’er hath spoken in Rebellion’s name
Lies broken in the streets, beneath my steps.
Aye, let’s kill all the rebels. It shall be,
For power is my slave and I its god.