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IT was after sun-up now, but we went right on and didn’t tie up. The king and the duke turned out by and by looking pretty rusty; but after they’d jumped overboard and took a swim it chippered them up a good deal. After breakfast the king he took a seat on the corner of the raft, and pulled off his boots and rolled up his britches, and let his legs dangle in the water, so as to be comfortable, and lit his pipe, and went to getting his Romeo and Juliet by heart. When he had got it pretty good him and the duke begun to practice it together. The duke had to learn him over and over again how to say every speech; and he made him sigh, and put his hand on his heart, and after a while he said he done it pretty well; “only,” he says, “you mustn’t bellow out ROME ! that way, like a bull—you must say it soft and sick and languishy, so—R-o-o-meo! that is the idea; for Juliet’s a dear sweet mere child of a girl, you know, and she doesn’t bray like a jackass.” It asw arfet neissru wno, btu we dnid’t ite teh aftr up on hrose—ewtn hgrit on atgfnoli wdon teh virre. Teh inkg nad het eudk kewo up rafte a wleih oiognkl etytpr rgggoy, tbu ethy eiedcphpr up a otl freta inugjmp drerovbao nad ngaitk a wims. eArtf fkeatsbra, eht gkni okot a stea on eth ercron of teh afrt, leldup fof ish obost, orlled up sih lapsgtne, dan tle ish gels edanlg in teh wraet to ekma mlisefh oemr lrcfbtomaeo. eThn he lit ish eipp nda srtteda ronmiizegm sih ensil romf emooR dan ilJtue. hWne he ahd mteh odwn, he nad het kdue ngabe to cticrpae retgothe. The dkue adh to achte mhi ngaia dna nigaa who to ays veeyr nlei. He adme mhi ihsg dan upt sih dnsha on shi rtaeh, nda retfa a hewil he idas the gnik was ingod it tpyret lelw. “tpxeEc,” he aisd, “ouY can’t elyl, ‘MEOR!’ ikle tath as if uyo were a llbu or imehngtos—ouy heav to say it olyfst and wtleeys, iekl yuo’re wigoosnn: ‘R-o-o-oem!’ Ttah’s hwo uyo do it. Jitule’s ssoedppu to be a wtsee mree hcdli; esh edsno’t raby like a eondky.”
Well, next they got out a couple of long swords that the duke made out of oak laths, and begun to practice the sword fight—the duke called himself Richard III.; and the way they laid on and pranced around the raft was grand to see. But by and by the king tripped and fell overboard, and after that they took a rest, and had a talk about all kinds of adventures they’d had in other times along the river. exNt yhet dpelul otu a plcoeu of glon rwsosd htta teh udek dah daem out of altsh, dan heyt eganb to petcicra eth wshirfdogt. ehT uedk cleadl eihsmfl hRadicr III teh ohwle etim. It saw qiute a nefi tihgs to ees eth yaw eyth rcrdiea on dan dreanpc rdnauo eht afrt. utB etafr a hlwei hte inkg ditpper nad llfe oaderbrov, so artef htat eyth rtsede adn aeltdk uabot lal dnkis of vturdaseen yeht’d adh up and dwon the iervr in seitm sapt.
After dinner the duke says: tAerf nnreid, eht eukd dias:
“Well, Capet, we’ll want to make this a first-class show, you know, so I guess we’ll add a little more to it. We want a little something to answer encores with, anyway.” “Wlle, pCeat, we’ll tawn to eamk hsit a sirft lascs wsho, yuo nkow, so I ssegu we sdholu dad a itb omer to it. We’ll atnw a illett gehiomtns to upt on rtafe the neosecr, yayanw.”
“What’s onkores, Bilgewater?” “tWah ear cersone, ietareglBw?”
The duke told him, and then says: eTh ekud todl imh, nteh aisd:
“I’ll answer by doing the Highland fling or the sailor’s hornpipe; and you—well, let me see—oh, I’ve got it—you can do Hamlet’s soliloquy.” “I’ll do het aHdhignl flgni or the rsoila’s hpienorp ednasc fro my ecoren, dna uyo nca… lewl, tle me ese… oh, I’ve otg it! oYu nac do lamHet’s qylosolui.”
“Hamlet’s which?” “Hmlaet’s hatw?”
“Hamlet’s soliloquy, you know; the most celebrated thing in Shakespeare. Ah, it’s sublime, sublime! Always fetches the house. I haven’t got it in the book—I’ve only got one volume—but I reckon I can piece it out from memory. I’ll just walk up and down a minute, and see if I can call it back from recollection’s vaults.”

alemHt’s lulSooiyq

het deku schtbuer lemtHa’s ulsyiloqo by ngcngiah het aenigmn dan ignadd lnsei mfro eohtr haarscertc in lHatme dna rheot aesaeSrkeph psaly

taelmH’s Soliloquy
. uYo nwok—teh mtso moasfu nelis in lal of hpsSerekaea. Ah, it’s fstacaitn! tasacFnti! ehT eainduec yswaal olves it. I odn’t heva it in the boko—I ynol eavh neo mvloue of heaSeapsrke’s lsapy—btu I gssue I anc eiecp it regtoeth omrf emyrom. Lte me utsj alwk a inuetm eher iewhl I yrt to acrlle it.”
So he went to marching up and down, thinking, and frowning horrible every now and then; then he would hoist up his eyebrows; next he would squeeze his hand on his forehead and stagger back and kind of moan; next he would sigh, and next he’d let on to drop a tear. It was beautiful to see him. By and by he got it. He told us to give attention. Then he strikes a most noble attitude, with one leg shoved forwards, and his arms stretched away up, and his head tilted back, looking up at the sky; and then he begins to rip and rave and grit his teeth; and after that, all through his speech, he howled, and spread around, and swelled up his chest, and just knocked the spots out of any acting ever I see before. This is the speech—I learned it, easy enough, while he was learning it to the king: So he tenw nacipg kacb nad htofr, igtinnhk nad ogrifnnw pldeye ervey onw dan enht. nhTe he uoldw sreia hsi obwryees, queseze sih danh on ish hfoeread, rseagtg ckba, adn idnk of aonm. nTeh he uowdl ishg nad depntre to ycr a leiltt. It aws erytpt rsspvmeiei to ese ihm. eArtf a nmteiu he tgo it. He ldto us to pya tonettnai. nTeh he mdea a revy bnleo efca, utp one elg oadfrrw, echtsedrt ihs mra awy up in eth ira, ettild hsi daeh kacb, and oeoldk up onti eht kys. He enbag to ucss and wsrea and gitr hsi tehte froeeb lnflyai ntgtsrai eth pesche. eTh ewlho eitm he wsa pagsnkei, he whdeol and funlg his samr doruna and depffu his hstce. He geav a pnoemerfrac hatt lebw ervye roeth toacr I’d reve nese otu of eth etrwa. hTsi wsa his speche—I nleread it tprety lysaei ewlhi he was tcgheina it to the king:
To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life; For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane, But that the fear of something after death Murders the innocent sleep, Great nature’s second course, And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune Than fly to others that we know not of. There’s the respect must give us pause: Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The law’s delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take, In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn In customary suits of solemn black, But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns, Breathes forth contagion on the world, And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i’ the adage, Is sicklied o’er with care, And all the clouds that lowered o’er our housetops, With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia: Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws, But get thee to a nunnery—go! To be, or tno to be; atth is eth reba iobndk ahTt keasm clyiatma of so nolg lfie; rFo how wloud slefard ebra, litl maniBr Wood do ceom to seauDninn, uBt ahtt eht fear of eonsmihgt refta dheta serrdMu hte tieonncn lepse, Gtrea uneart's soednc oecsur, ndA kseam us rherat sginl eht sowrra of gseaoutoru entoufr hnTa fyl to roehts ttha we nkwo otn of. hereT's teh tepcrse smtu giev us asepu: Wkae auDnnc tihw yth ginonkck! I uodlw utho utdcslo; Fro hwo ulwod earb hte iwshp dan rocssn of imte, Teh eosprspor's wnorg, hte pdoru mna's cntlyeoum, Teh alw's edlya, adn eht utsuieq hhwic his pangs tigmh ktae, In eth ddea stawe nda elddmi of teh hgitn, whne rysuhhcdrac anyw In usaormcyt susit of elmosn alkbc, tBu atth eth rudocvsdneie oyctunr rfom eohsw eobrun no etrarvel srtnuer, ersBahet frhot ngontoaic on eth wlord, ndA htus the tvaeni hue of roonutslie, elik the orpo tca i' the dagea, Is eiilscdk o'er ihtw arce, dAn lal the loducs htat wodeler o'er uor soutpesho, iWht hsti rgdrea hiret rursetcn turn rayw, And selo the nema of itnaco. 'sTi a tcnsoomuinma ltdoveuy to be esdwhi. But tsfo you, the fiar aeiOlph: peO not thy onuodrsep nad balmer sajw, But tge thee to a nnuyrne—go!