The official *Speak in Shakespearean* thread

[Stop_the_War]

This thread is where we shall speaketh in Shakespearean English.

[Bouncy Ball]

1. FIEND!! THY NAME IS HOMICIDE!!!

[Fenris]

2. Thou cockered weather-bitten clotpole!

[Stop_the_War]

5. thou puking full-gorged ratsbane!

[BeatleBoot]

3. Why?

[Aristus]

4. Be the master-mistress of my passion,

since nature has pricked me out for thee.

[shugah]

6. can't be improved

"how sharper than a serpents tooth, to have a thankless child"

[shugah]

7. can't be improved

"a horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!"

richard III suffered greatly at the hands of tudor propagandists (shakespeare, the bard was - alas! - one of those tudor apologists).

Richard III was a progressive. no surprise he got shot down then. he'd be shot down today!

[Sporadicus]

8. You are a Fishmonger!

Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!

Thou art sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, a poor unminded outlaw sneaking home.

Thou qualling fool-born jolt-head!

Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb!

*How effective our insults could be, borrowing from the Bard.

[charlyvi]

9. My necessaries are embarked!

[RevolutionaryActs]

10. I give thy the official Shakespearean Insult Generator.

Thou puny rude-growing ratsbane!


http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html?

[Longgrain]

12. Alas poor Rev I knew her well...

:P

[RevolutionaryActs]

13. Thou dare challenge me?

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.


Yes, I have that memorized, didn't type it though, because I'm lazy. ;) :P

[CubsFan1982]

11. Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb!

:D

[Brewman_Jax]

14. Thou infected carbunkle

Odds bodkins! There are no words that can cry to the heavens the day that your acursed paramore beset God's good earth with your foul presence!