Amagansett for a horse

Withdraw, my lord; 
I'll help you to a horse.

Slave, I have set my life
  upon a cast,
And I will stand the
  hazard of a die! ..
A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!

I remember, don't ask when,
running into an Amagansett
pool boy, and a very good
one he was. A third genera-
tion master of hygiene to
the hotly strung; discreet,
loyally deaf to intrigue.
And he'd seen many a party
ruined by impulsive moves.

I can't believe that now,
to give his name, would 
give away the game. Cates-
by, it was; not to be con-
fused with Gatsby. Sir Wil-
liam Catesby, and he knew
his place. But this always
cuts both ways, doesn't it.

I thought of Billy Catesby
this week, when we were in-
formed that Mrs Clinton is
to give up her innocently
earned vacation rental in
Amagansett, to do battle
somewhere in the Midwest,
by issuing another sheaf
of glittering policies,
to salvage her legitimacy
from impertinent rumours.
(Folly, to grub for grades
when school is on holiday).
Now the caterers' chagrin
is the hostesses' to spin.

What is't o'clock?

It's supper time, my lord:
  it's nine o'clock.

I will not sup tonight.
Give me some ink and paper.
What, is my beaver easier
  than it was,
And all my armour laid
  into my tent?

William Shakespeare
King Richard III
  Act v, Scenes iv & iii
1597
Antony Hammond
  editor
The Arden Shakespeare
Methuen & Co., Ltd., 1981©

The East Hampton Star