From Julius Caesar:

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Naturally suave Bill Clinton stumps for pal Obama, takes his aim at a wordy, awesome, truthful venue keynote.

A main theme was that he could probably talk us all into voting for Romney if he wanted to.

This is the sixth of a series of parodies, in which I change the lyrics to a popular song to make it about Shakespeare.

Enjoy!

Mourn This Way
sung to the tune of “Born This Way”

(With apologies to Lady Gaga and, I guess, Weird Al Yankovic…)

It doesn’t matter if you loved him,
Or capital M-O-M.
Just throw some black on,
‘Cause you can mourn this way, baby!

My mama told me when I was young,
I’d one day become the king.
But when my father died, my uncle did,
While she was glad to wear his ring.

And now I’m seeing my father’s ghost;
“Avenge my unnatural death” he’ll say.
I’ll fool my uncle, keep him off his guard,
With the crafty madness I can play.

I’m gonna change how I look,
Then read some words from a book,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m gonna put on a show;
I’ll get my uncle to go,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I’ll watch him at the play.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.

My uncle murdered Dad and took his crown;
I know just how far fetched that sounds.
But now the king’s fled from the play, so I’ll
Take the ghost’s word for a thousand pounds.

“Direct your vengeance against the king,
But not capital M-O-M.” Hey, hey, hey!
If I confront her, then the ghost will come:
Truepenny, hic et ubique.

And now my girlfriend’s gone mad,
Because I murdered her dad,
And I wore all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I took a trip with some friends;
Too bad they’ll now meet their ends,
While I wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, I sent them on their way.
Maybe I can mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’m not a king; I’m just a prince.
Hereditary governments
Have quite a lot to answer for
In Copenhagen, Elsinore!

And soon I’ll need to fear no toil,
I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil,
So get yourself some black today,
‘Cause, baby, you can mourn this way.

No matter king, queen, or knave,
Prince, yeoman, beggar, or slave;
You gotta wear black, baby,
When you mourn at my grave.

No matter Danish, German,
Norwegian, Pole, Swede, or Finn;
You gotta wear black, baby,
So your mourn can begin.

Out to the graveyard I’ll go,
Talk to this skull that I know,
And I’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause I mourn this way.

I’ll match Laertes with swords,
Then get my final rewards,
And you’ll wear all black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way, yeah.

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
Maybe you can mourn this way.

Mourn this way!

Oh, this is my final day.
Horatio, you’ll mourn this way.
All black, baby,
‘Cause you’ll mourn this way.

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

You can mourn this way, hey!
You can mourn this way, hey!
Just wear all black, baby,
You can mourn this way, hey!

I’m DOA, so mourn this way…
I’m DOA, so mourn this way…

I’m the visual arts, whether painting or clay;
I’m the thinnest of pen points; a light misty spray;
I am quality china; a top Cabernet;
Or, for minor transgressions, the money you pay.

Who am I?

UPDATE: Riddle solved by Asher. See comments for answer.

From Macbeth:

O! these flaws and starts—
Impostors to true fear—would well become
A woman’s story at a winter’s fire,
Authoriz’d by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces? When all’s done
You look but on a stool.

Shift around the letters, and it becomes:

Don’t worry for famous Clint Eastwood.

Honestly, that slowed hokey bit where he was lecturing to a fantasized Obama seems somewhat normal.

Sure, all the rest of your famous Republicans always do.

Kudos!