This har post be by me, not som' reprinted piece. - Dirty Sam Read aka Mad Tom Storm aka OlderMusicGeek.
If ye be readin' my blog afore, ye be knowin' me interest in the language of pirates!
I be supplyin' a numb'r of translations afore, so I be givin' ya all anot'er. This har is Hamlet's siloquy translated to Pirate speak. I be havin' halp from this har translator -
Talk Like A Pirate Day translator.
A sea dog says 't this way:
Ta be, or nay t' be--that be th' question:
Whether `tis nobler in th' head t' suffer
Th' slings an' arrows o' outrageous fortune
Or t' take arms against a sea o' troubles
An' by opposin' end them. T' sink t'Davy Jones' locker, t' sleep--
Nay more--an' by a sleep t' say we end
Th' heartache, an' th' chestfull o' natural shocks
That flesh be heir t'. `Tis a consummation
Devoutly t' be wished. T' sink t'Davy Jones' locker, t' sleep--
T' sleep--perchance t' dream: ay, thar`s th' rub,
Fer in that sleep o' Davy Jones' locker what dreams may come
When we be havin' shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. Thar`s th' respect
That makes calamity o' so long life.
Fer who would bear th' whips an' scorns o' time,
Th` oppressor`s wrong, th' proud man`s contumely
Th' pangs o' despised love, th' law`s delay,
Th' insolence o' office, an' th' spurns
That patient merit o' th` unworthy takes,
When he hisself might his quietus make
Wi' a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
T' grunt an' sweat under a weary life,
But that th' dread o' somethin' after Davy Jones' locker,
Th' undiscovered country, from whose bourn
Nay traveller returns, puzzles th' will,
An' makes us rather bear them ills we be havin'
Than fly t' others that we know nay o'?
Thus conscience does make yeller bellies o' us all,
An' thus th' native hue o' resolution
Be sicklied o`er wi' th' pale cast o' thought,
An' enterprise o' great pitch an' moment
Wi' this regard the'r currents turn awry
An' lose th' name o' action. -- Soft ye now,
Th' fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all me sins remembered.
Ya landlubber!
)
