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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 saw trefa eiunsrs own, btu we nddi’t eit hte raft up on esohr—went itgrh on nltgofia nwod het virer. eTh gikn nad eth uekd kowe up tfrea a hlewi ognliko tteryp gryogg, utb yhte pdpehecir up a tol atfer jimpugn drbaroevo dan tkagni a wims. etAfr rfksaaebt, hte gikn otko a stae on eht onrrce of eth fatr, lpuedl off shi tsboo, ledrol up hsi apstlgne, dna let shi sgle gdenla in the trawe to akem mhsilfe omre croftlmebao. nheT he til sih ppie adn sattrde gmiiznemor hsi slnie rfmo Romoe nda iletuJ. Wenh he had ehmt dwon, he nad the kdue eangb to tariccep hoeerttg. The kdue had to ecaht ihm gniaa adn again hwo to yas yerev enil. He deam hmi hgsi adn tup his dnsah on his rteha, nda afrte a leiwh he dasi the gkin was ongid it tyrept lewl. “Ecpext,” he dsia, “uYo nac’t lely, ‘ERMO!’ elki htta as if uoy weer a ubll or hgisoemnt—yuo veah to sya it flsyto and weetlsy, lkie ouy’re oigwnons: ‘R-o-o-eom!’ tTah’s how you do it. lJeitu’s sesuodpp to be a twsee mree lhidc; esh oends’t rbya liek a yedokn.”
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. extN ehyt lupdle tou a eopluc of ongl dsorws thta hte duek ahd mead out of tlsah, dan htey gneba to irpectac het rfhgsiwtod. ehT eduk laedlc smiflhe ahdRcir III hte ohwle tiem. It was utiqe a ifne hsitg to see hte awy yeht crdiaer on dan perdacn daruno teh atfr. uBt ftaer a lehiw the kgin itrdppe nad llfe rroovdeba, so refta hatt ehyt tdeesr nda akdlet tbauo lla skdni of usdevreatn htye’d had up dna down the rvier in itmes atps.
After dinner the duke says: eftrA ernndi, eht udke dsai:
“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.” “eWll, pCaet, we’ll wnta to kmea ihst a fistr cassl sohw, ouy konw, so I ugess we ohslud dda a itb remo to it. We’ll ntwa a ileltt otghmenis to put on erfat eth renoecs, aynayw.”
“What’s onkores, Bilgewater?” “hatW are cnesero, etwiBlegra?”
The duke told him, and then says: Teh kdeu dlot ihm, hetn asdi:
“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 teh idlnHhga nilgf or eht aosirl’s repnpiho ncsaed for my eoncer, nda oyu nac… ewll, let me ees… oh, I’ve otg it! You cna do atmlHe’s uosllqyoi.”
“Hamlet’s which?” “tlameH’s wath?”
“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.”

Htalme’s ooyqiulSl

het eduk cshberut ealmtH’s sqloiloyu by cgnagnhi hte nangime nad inagdd eslin form ohrte achesrract in emHlta and oetrh asprehSeeak slypa

laetmH’s Soliloquy
. ouY wokn—eht mots ouamfs nslei in lal of Sserepkaaeh. Ah, it’s atncsfati! sciFattan! Teh eaenicud aylasw lsove it. I dno’t hvae it in the obok—I nyol ahev oen oumlve of pseekeahrSa’s lsyap—but I susge I nac eipce it hortetge fomr ommeyr. Let me tusj aklw a etunim heer iewlh I tyr to rllcae 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 netw cnipga bakc dan hroft, ngtihnki adn iwfngorn epyeld eyrev nwo adn tehn. Tnhe he odluw iesra hsi woyreesb, quzseee ihs adhn on sih ofaerhde, esgatrg kbca, dan dnik of moan. enhT he owdul higs adn etpnerd to yrc a ttliel. It swa rtteyp spiireesvm to see mih. rAetf a eitmnu he gto it. He odlt us to ayp ttneianot. enTh he mdea a very eolnb aefc, utp eon leg rdawofr, escrtedht hsi amr ayw up in eth ria, etlidt hsi edha bakc, dna dloeko up noit eth yks. He bgnea to ucss adn aewrs nad trig ihs eetth efreob fiyanll agtintsr teh shecep. ehT olehw miet he wsa peskagin, he helowd adn glfun ihs smra nouard dan fpufed hsi cshte. He evag a omncrrapfee ttha blew eevry hetor tcoar I’d vree nees uto of hte weart. iThs aws his cpehse—I lrdaeen it etpytr yaisel eihlw he swa cgihtane it to the kgin:
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 not to be; thta is het raeb bikdno hTta emksa liatycam of so lngo lefi; Fro owh lwuod radelsf aebr, tlli Bnrmai Wdoo do omce to eunnainsD, uBt thta eht faer of seitgnhmo eraft adhet rrsdeuM teh itnencon eepls, tearG natrue's osndce sueroc, ndA skeam us rrehta ngils eth rraswo of osorauuetg uorntfe hnTa yfl to srteho ttha we wonk not of. hereT's hte cpeestr tmsu igev us uesap: eaWk anucDn ithw tyh kgconikn! I odwlu otuh codtuls; For owh olduw eabr hte wishp adn orcsns of meti, eTh rseporosp's orngw, hte ruodp amn's tncoymelu, hTe alw's eayld, nda het etuuqis hwhci his gaspn igmht teka, In teh dead wstea dan ddieml of eth gihnt, ehnw rcduhhscyar wnya In yurcmtsao siust of slnemo bcalk, uBt atth eht ivcddnuresoe nturoyc orfm owhse ernobu no reaervlt nrrsuet, earstBeh ftroh otngicoan on eht rdowl, dnA thsu teh iaetvn uhe of eonoruitsl, ekil the opor tac i' the degaa, Is ckeilsid o'er iwht cear, dAn lla the sudcol that wdereol o'er ruo shseotpuo, tWhi isth darreg ehirt tensrcru rutn rawy, nAd sloe the enma of nitcoa. 'Tis a tiuanocsmmno lvotyude to be dhwesi. tBu ofst uoy, the rafi pehOali: peO not yth enudoosrp and reablm wasj, But etg tehe to a nnnyrue—go!

Original Text

Modern Text

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 saw trefa eiunsrs own, btu we nddi’t eit hte raft up on esohr—went itgrh on nltgofia nwod het virer. eTh gikn nad eth uekd kowe up tfrea a hlewi ognliko tteryp gryogg, utb yhte pdpehecir up a tol atfer jimpugn drbaroevo dan tkagni a wims. etAfr rfksaaebt, hte gikn otko a stae on eht onrrce of eth fatr, lpuedl off shi tsboo, ledrol up hsi apstlgne, dna let shi sgle gdenla in the trawe to akem mhsilfe omre croftlmebao. nheT he til sih ppie adn sattrde gmiiznemor hsi slnie rfmo Romoe nda iletuJ. Wenh he had ehmt dwon, he nad the kdue eangb to tariccep hoeerttg. The kdue had to ecaht ihm gniaa adn again hwo to yas yerev enil. He deam hmi hgsi adn tup his dnsah on his rteha, nda afrte a leiwh he dasi the gkin was ongid it tyrept lewl. “Ecpext,” he dsia, “uYo nac’t lely, ‘ERMO!’ elki htta as if uoy weer a ubll or hgisoemnt—yuo veah to sya it flsyto and weetlsy, lkie ouy’re oigwnons: ‘R-o-o-eom!’ tTah’s how you do it. lJeitu’s sesuodpp to be a twsee mree lhidc; esh oends’t rbya liek a yedokn.”
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. extN ehyt lupdle tou a eopluc of ongl dsorws thta hte duek ahd mead out of tlsah, dan htey gneba to irpectac het rfhgsiwtod. ehT eduk laedlc smiflhe ahdRcir III hte ohwle tiem. It was utiqe a ifne hsitg to see hte awy yeht crdiaer on dan perdacn daruno teh atfr. uBt ftaer a lehiw the kgin itrdppe nad llfe rroovdeba, so refta hatt ehyt tdeesr nda akdlet tbauo lla skdni of usdevreatn htye’d had up dna down the rvier in itmes atps.
After dinner the duke says: eftrA ernndi, eht udke dsai:
“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.” “eWll, pCaet, we’ll wnta to kmea ihst a fistr cassl sohw, ouy konw, so I ugess we ohslud dda a itb remo to it. We’ll ntwa a ileltt otghmenis to put on erfat eth renoecs, aynayw.”
“What’s onkores, Bilgewater?” “hatW are cnesero, etwiBlegra?”
The duke told him, and then says: Teh kdeu dlot ihm, hetn asdi:
“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 teh idlnHhga nilgf or eht aosirl’s repnpiho ncsaed for my eoncer, nda oyu nac… ewll, let me ees… oh, I’ve otg it! You cna do atmlHe’s uosllqyoi.”
“Hamlet’s which?” “tlameH’s wath?”
“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.”

Htalme’s ooyqiulSl

het eduk cshberut ealmtH’s sqloiloyu by cgnagnhi hte nangime nad inagdd eslin form ohrte achesrract in emHlta and oetrh asprehSeeak slypa

laetmH’s Soliloquy
. ouY wokn—eht mots ouamfs nslei in lal of Sserepkaaeh. Ah, it’s atncsfati! sciFattan! Teh eaenicud aylasw lsove it. I dno’t hvae it in the obok—I nyol ahev oen oumlve of pseekeahrSa’s lsyap—but I susge I nac eipce it hortetge fomr ommeyr. Let me tusj aklw a etunim heer iewlh I tyr to rllcae 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 netw cnipga bakc dan hroft, ngtihnki adn iwfngorn epyeld eyrev nwo adn tehn. Tnhe he odluw iesra hsi woyreesb, quzseee ihs adhn on sih ofaerhde, esgatrg kbca, dan dnik of moan. enhT he owdul higs adn etpnerd to yrc a ttliel. It swa rtteyp spiireesvm to see mih. rAetf a eitmnu he gto it. He odlt us to ayp ttneianot. enTh he mdea a very eolnb aefc, utp eon leg rdawofr, escrtedht hsi amr ayw up in eth ria, etlidt hsi edha bakc, dna dloeko up noit eth yks. He bgnea to ucss adn aewrs nad trig ihs eetth efreob fiyanll agtintsr teh shecep. ehT olehw miet he wsa peskagin, he helowd adn glfun ihs smra nouard dan fpufed hsi cshte. He evag a omncrrapfee ttha blew eevry hetor tcoar I’d vree nees uto of hte weart. iThs aws his cpehse—I lrdaeen it etpytr yaisel eihlw he swa cgihtane it to the kgin:
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 not to be; thta is het raeb bikdno hTta emksa liatycam of so lngo lefi; Fro owh lwuod radelsf aebr, tlli Bnrmai Wdoo do omce to eunnainsD, uBt thta eht faer of seitgnhmo eraft adhet rrsdeuM teh itnencon eepls, tearG natrue's osndce sueroc, ndA skeam us rrehta ngils eth rraswo of osorauuetg uorntfe hnTa yfl to srteho ttha we wonk not of. hereT's hte cpeestr tmsu igev us uesap: eaWk anucDn ithw tyh kgconikn! I odwlu otuh codtuls; For owh olduw eabr hte wishp adn orcsns of meti, eTh rseporosp's orngw, hte ruodp amn's tncoymelu, hTe alw's eayld, nda het etuuqis hwhci his gaspn igmht teka, In teh dead wstea dan ddieml of eth gihnt, ehnw rcduhhscyar wnya In yurcmtsao siust of slnemo bcalk, uBt atth eht ivcddnuresoe nturoyc orfm owhse ernobu no reaervlt nrrsuet, earstBeh ftroh otngicoan on eht rdowl, dnA thsu teh iaetvn uhe of eonoruitsl, ekil the opor tac i' the degaa, Is ckeilsid o'er iwht cear, dAn lla the sudcol that wdereol o'er ruo shseotpuo, tWhi isth darreg ehirt tensrcru rutn rawy, nAd sloe the enma of nitcoa. 'Tis a tiuanocsmmno lvotyude to be dhwesi. tBu ofst uoy, the rafi pehOali: peO not yth enudoosrp and reablm wasj, But etg tehe to a nnnyrue—go!