HUMOR: Pirate Translation Of A Christmas Classic

Bein' a fan o' th' language, Pirate, last voyage I presented two Buccanneer versions o' Th' Night Before Christmas. Followin' that tradition - admitted a wee days late, I present a Pirate translation o' th' openin' an' closin' o' Charles Dickens` A Christmas Shantey. I had helped wi' this Buccanneer translator.- Dirty Sam Read of the good ship, The Hate Of The West (aka OlderMusicGeek)

A CHRISTMAS SHANTEY
by Charles Dickens

I be havin' endeavoured in this Ghostly wee book, t' raise th' Ghost o' an Idee, which shall nay put me readers ou' o' humour wi' they's self, wi' each other, wi' th' season, or wi' me. May 't haunt the'r houses pleasantly, an' nay one wish t' lay 't.

The'r faithful Matey an' Servant,
C. D.
Decembree, 1843.

Stave 1: Marley`s Ghost

Marley be dead: t' begin wi'. Thar be nay doubtwhatereabout that. Th' register o' his burial be signed by th' clergyman, th' clerk, th' undertaker, an' th' chief mourner. Scrooge signed 't. An' Scrooge`s name be good upon `Change, fer anythin' he chose t' put his hand t'.

Old Marley be as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I dasn't mean t' say that I know, o' me own knowledge, what thar be particularly dead about a door-nail. I might ben inclined, myself, t' regard a coffin-nail as th' deadest piece o' ironmongery in th' trade. But th' wisdom o' our ancestors be in th' simile; an' me unhallowed hands shall nay disturb 't, or th' Country`s done fer. Ye will therefore permit me t' repeat, emphatically, that Marley be as dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge be knowin' he be dead? O' course he did. How could 't be otherwise? Scrooge an' he be partners fer I dasn't know how many voyages. Scrooge be his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole matey, an' sole mourner. An' e'en Scrooge be nay so dreadfully cut up by th' sad event, but that he be an excellent man o' business on th' very tide o' th' funeral, an' solemnised 't wi' an undoubted bargain.

Th' mention o' Marley`s funeral brings me aft t' th' point I started from. Thar be nay doubt that Marley be dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothin' wonderful can come o' th' story I be goin' t' relate. If we be nay perfectly convinced that Hamlet`s Father sank t'Davy Jones' locker before th' play began, thar would be nothin' more remarkable in his takin' a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than thar would be in any other middle-aged
gentleman rashly turnin' ou' after dark in a breezy spot -- say Saint Paul`s Churchyard fer instance -- literally t' astonish his lad`s weak mind...


Scrooge be better than his word. He did 't all, an' infinitely more; an' t' Wee Tim, who did nay sink t'Davy Jones' locker, he be a second father. He became as good a matey, as good a master, an' as good a man, as th' good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in th' good old world. Some swabbies laughed t' be seein' th' alteration in th' lad's, but he let them yo ho ho, an' wee heeded them; fer he be wise enough t' know that nothin' erehappened on this globe, fer good, at which some swabbies did nay be havin' the'r fill o' yo ho ho in th' outset; an' knowin' that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought 't quite as well that they ortin' ta wrinkle up the'r one good eye in grins, as be havin' th' malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: an' that be quite enough fer th' lad's.

He be havin' nay further intercourse wi' Spirits, but lived upon th' Total Abstinence Principle, ereafterwards; an' 't be always spake o' th' lad's, that he be knowin' how t' keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed th' knowledge. May that be truly spake o' us, an' all o' us! An' so, as Wee Tim observed, God be blessin' Us, Ever' One!

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CULTURE/SOCIETY: Aarrrrrrrrgh! 'Tis International Talk Like A Pirate Day!

This be from me, 'n' not be some reprinted piece. - Dirty Sam Read of the good ship, The Hate Of The West (aka OlderMusicGeek)

My pirate name is:

Dirty Sam Read

You're the pirate everyone else wants to throw in the ocean -- not to get rid of you, you understand; just to get rid of the smell. Even through many pirates have a reputation for not being the brightest souls on earth, you defy the sterotypes. You've got taste and education. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org net

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh! Ahoy, mateys! And welcome abroad another glorious International Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Yes, it once ag'in be that glorious day for pirates, Pastafarians, ngd's (nerds/geeks/dorks) and jest fun-lovin' people everywhere!

So grab yer pantaloons, yer scarfs and yer fruity shirts! 'N' git out thar and be speaking like a true pirate!


A link to the official Talk Like A Pirate Day home page
A link to the pirate name generator
A link to Long John Silver sound clips
A link to my other posts about International Talk Like a Pirate Day

CULTURE/SOCIETY: A Pirate Translation

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!

HUMOR: A Pirate’s Night Before Christmas

Well, mateys, you should be knowin' that I be havin' a likin' for the Pirate talk. So I be showin' ye scallywags t'is here poem that I be finding by googling "pirate" and "Twas the Night Before Christmas". Merry Christm's! - OlderMusicGeek

A Pirate’s Night Before Christmas by David Ruffin

'Twere the night before Christmas and far out ta sea,
The Pirates was sleepin’ as snug as could be.
“Cept me, the lookout, I’m walkin’ the deck.
I knew if I didn’t they’d sure stretch me neck.

So now you can imagine it was quite a surprise
When a light in the distance come unto me eyes.
I peered thru the spyglass, then let out a hoot,
For out on the billows I spied some old koot.

There was nary a reindeer, and neither a sleigh,
But eight silver dolphins was pullin’ a red dingy my way.
And there at the tiller was ol’ cap’n Nick,
Who called to them dolphins and that did the trick.

Yo Ho Teach, Yo Ho Bonnet, Argh Conditt and Tew
Avast Moody and Roberts, Rackham and Every, too
Over those white caps, now heave along side.
And there by the gun-ports, the dingy he tied.

I run to the railin’ and peered down the side
Then scurried back aft ‘hind the capstan to hide.
And whil’st I was peekin’ a seabag come flyin’,
Heaved to the deck by ol’ Nick, I’m not lyin’.

Then right over the railin’ that dog comes a slidin’
And rolls cross the deck while me time I’m just bidin’.
He tries to stand upright, that scurvy old bastard
But falls in the scuppers, the old fart was plastered.

He was fat as a lard tub, with only one eye
And a great big ol’ stump hung below his left thigh.
A hook for a hand shone in the moon’s glow
And he stank like a they bilges or a Port Royal ‘Ho

His coat it was tattered, his boot, not so shiney
And his trousers hung low, I could just see his hiney.
In the braids of his beard I could see some burned matches
And I’m thinkin’ it ‘bout time I battened me hatches.

I crawled past the mizzen and was headed below
When right over the railin’, some chunks he did blow.
Then he turned with a smile that showed off his last tooth
And scratched at his crotch, My God! He’s uncouth.

But he jacked up his trousers and he turned to his bag
And grabbed out a present and was readin’ the tag.
A pistol for Captain, for the Bosun a whistle,
For the swabby a new brush that had only one bristle.

He kept at his labor ‘till he emptied his sack
Then run off to the galley ta find him a snack.
But instead of a cookie or some jam on a bun,
He stumbled back topside with a bottle of Rum.

I thought he had missed me but I was mistaken.
He winked his good eye towards where I stood a shakin’.
He stuck a fat finger inside his red nose
And pulled out a booger which he flicked at his toes.

He glanced round the deck to take stock of his work
Tossed over his seabag and turned with a jerk
He reached in his pocket and rolled him a fag
Then lit it and leaned on the rail for a drag

As I stood entranced the rail give a creak
The splash down below told me Old Nick was takin’ a leak.
He adjusted his mainmast and shook off his boot
I called over to him, “Yo, thanks for the loot!”

He saluted back at me, then sprung into motion
But he missed the red dingy and fell in the ocean.
Which startled the dolphins, but he grabbed hold the line,
Shoutin', “Merry Christmas, ye bugger. Don’t worry. I’m fine!”

A ship ta the original site of yonder poem

T'is here be anoth'r version...



A vessel ta all me Christmas an' holiday posts

May ye be havin' a happy Christmas and/or Boxing Day and/or Kwanzaa and/or Hannakah and/or Bodhi Day and/or Sanghamitta Day and/or Shabe Cheleh and/or Makara Sankranti and/or Junkanoo and/or Dong Zhi and/or Toji and/or Soyal and/or Yule and/or Seva Zistane and/or Alban Arthan and/or Long Night and/or Mean Geimrech and/or Brumalia and/or Dies Natalis Solis Invicti and/or Saturnalia and/or Lenaea and/or Wren Day and/or Tekufah Tevet and/or Winter Solstice and/or ChriFSMas and/or any other December or winter solstice holidays I be missin'!

Oh, and Bah Humbug ta those scurvy dogs who not be celebratin' th' holidays! :)

HUMOR: Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" Translated to Pirate

Well, since I love the language Pirate, I translated part of Edgar Allan Poe's poem, "The Raven". :) - OlderMusicGeek.

Once upon a low tide dreary, while me pondered weak an' weary,
O'er many a quaint an' strange books o' forgotten lore,
While me nodded, nearly nappin', suddenly thar came a tappin',
As o' some one gently rappin', rappin' at me chamber door.
``Tis some visitor,` me muttered, `tappin' at me chamber door -
Only this, an' nothin' more.`

Ah, distinctly me reckon 't be in th' bleak Decembree,
An' each separate dyin' ember wrought its ghost upon th' deck.
Eagerly I wished th' morrow; - vainly I had sought t' borrow
From me books surcease o' sorrow - sorrow fer th' lost Lenore -
Fer th' rare an' radiant maiden whom th' angels named Lenore -
Nameless here fer ev'rmore.

`Prophet!` spake me, `thin' o' evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Hea'en that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul wi' sorrow laden if, within th' distant Aidenn,
't shall clasp a sainted maiden whom th' angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare an' radiant maiden, whom th' angels named Lenore?`
Quoth th' raven, `Nev'rmore.`

`Be that word our sign o' partin', bird or fiend!` me shrieked upstartin' -
`Get thee aft into th' tempest an' th' Night`s Plutonian shore!
Leave nay black plume as a token o' that lie thy soul been spoken!
Leave me loneliness unbroken! - quit th' bust above me door!
Take thy beak from ou' me heart, an' take thy form from off me door!`
Quoth th' raven, `Nev'rmore.`

And th' raven, nereflittin', still be sittin', still be sittin'
On th' pallid bust o' Pallas jus' above me chamber door;
An' his one good eye be havin' all th' seemin' o' a demon`s that be dreamin',
An' th' lamp-light o`er th' lad's streamin' throws his shadow on th' deck;
An' me soul from ou' that shadow that lies floatin' on th' deck
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Ya horn swogglin' scurvy cur!

HUMOR and CULTURE/SOCIETY: Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day

Ahoy, maties. I just be wantin' t' wish ye and yers a happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Yargh!

If ye be needin` help, then sail yerself o'er here

'Tis here be an example o' the'r handiwork of th' link -
I pledge allegiance t' th' Jolly roger o' th' United States o' America, an' t' th' Republic fer which 't stands: one Nation under God, indivisible, wi' Liberty an' Justice fer all. Ya scallywag whut deserves the black spot!

Talk Like a Pirate Day website

Wikipedia's entry for International Talk Like a Pirate Day

Dave Barry's take on International Talk Like a Pirate Day

instruction video on how to talk like a pirate

ABC article on International Talk Like a Pirate Day