O, that this too too oily spill would thin
Spread and disperse itself into the Gulf!
Or that the Deepwater Horizon
Had not ignored all warnings! O BP!
How crude, slick, fine and most profitable,
Seems to you all the black gold of this world!
Fire on't! ah fire! 'tis an untamed leak,
That thrives to bleed; men rank and gross in nature
Extract it dearly. That it should come to this!
But six weeks gone: nay, not so much, not six:
So excellent a crop; we are, to this,
Unquenched addicts to a poison; so vital to my country
That it might not beteem the Saudi princes
Restrict its flow too harshly. Profits and greed!
Must we remember? Why, we are drunk on it,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and so, over the years--
We wish not think on't--Frailty, thy name is petrol!--
In little time, or ere that well was killed
From which there flow'd that darkest Texan tea,
Like Niobe*, no rest:--why she, even she--
O, God! a beast, that gushed by both day and night,
Would have run dry sooner--spew'd from the sea floor,
Our country's life-blood, but no more like our life-blood
Than curdled milk to cream: within the Gulf,
Ere yet the fisherman of most fresh shrimp
Had left their harbors for their season's catch,
Oil spread. O, most wicked speed, to wreck,
With such penetration, fragile wetlands!
The size of the spill is not understood:
But break, my drill, your blowout preventer.
*In Greek mythology, Niobe cried for her dead children so much that the gods turned her into a stone which continuously gushed water.
Oh, and BP? More matter, less art. Or rather, less matter, less art. Just kill the thing already.