Back in 1997 my friend Gwynt translated William Shakespeare's famous Hamlet monologue to a more sheepish version. Since this sheepish masterpiece may not end up in the bottom drawer of oblivion, I will post it on my weblog.
The original version was published under the Games, Downloads & Miscellaneous Sheep Stuff of Gwynt's Sheep Paradise (which I archived).
Behold. It is not the most brilliant and correct English out there, but you have to make some concessions when you translate the monologue to a sheep dyeing story.
Monologue from 'Lamblet' by Woolliam Sheepspeare
(Act III, Scene I.- A Room in the Castle.
ligne 56: Enter Lamblet.)
Performed with a 'bleat in the throat'.
Lamblet
To baaa, or not to baaa: that is the que-e-estion:
Whe-e-ther 'tis nobler in the maaa-aaa to suffer
The sli-i-ings and a-a-arr-ewes of outsheareous fo-o-ortune,
Or to ta-a-ake rams agai-ai-ainst a sheep of troubles, A-a-and by oppo-o-osing end ram? To dye: two sheep;
No moor; and, by-y-y a sheep to say we end
The horn-ache and the thou-ou-ousand natural flocks
That flesh is here too, 'tis for consumption
Devou-ou-outly to baaa wish'd. To dye: two sheep;
Two sheep: persi-i-istent to scream: ay, they're the dumb
For in tha-a-at sheep of heath what screams may co-o-ome
When we ha-a-ave shorn of this mutton wool,
Must gi-i-ive us grass. The-e-ere's the respect
That makes insanity of such sheep life;
For who-o-o would shear the lips and horns of mine,
The shephard's wrong, the prou-ou-oud ram's contumely,
The lambs of disprized lo-o-ove, the ewe's betrayal,
The i-i-insolence of sheepishness, and the spu-u-urns
The baaa-aatient maaa-aaarit of the unwooly steaks,
When he himse-e-elf flight this delicious steak
With a baaa-aaa-aaare lambkin? who would shephards shear,
To bleat and shed u-u-under a sheary life,
But that the thread of some wool after shear,
The u-u-undiscover'd county from whose bourn
No lavender occurs, dazzles the hill,
And makes ewes rather shear those fleeces ewes have
Then dye -it bothers that ewes know not of?
Thus conscience does ma-a-ake shephards of us all;
And thu-u-us the native ewe with dye-solution
Is painted o'er with the pencils of thought
And ewe disguises in great myth and nonsense
With this rega-a-ard their cutlets turn greeny
And lose the fame of attraction. Soft ewe now!
The hairy Ovinia! Ny-y-ymph, in thy horn-sizes
Baaa a-a-all my sheep ramember'd
