Da Tragedy of Hamlet, Pimp of Denmark |
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| Hamlet
| Act 5, Scene 1
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Enta two Clowns, wit spades, & cFirst Clown
Is dat dunkadelic hoe ta be buried up in Christian burial thatSecond Clown
wilfully seeks her own salvation?
I tell thee she is: n' therefore make her graveFirst Clown
straight: tha crballa hath sat on her, n' findz dat shit
Christian burial.
How tha fuck can dat be, unless her dope ass drowned her muthafuckin ass up in herSecond Clown
own defence?
Why, 'tis found so.First Clown
It must be 'se offendendo;' it cannot be else. ForSecond Clown
here lies tha point: if I drown mah dirty ass wittingly,
it argues a act: n' a act hath three branches: dat shit
is, ta act, ta do, ta perform: argal, her dope ass drowned
herself wittingly.
Nay yo, but hear you, goodman delver,--First Clown
Give me muthafuckin bounce yo. Here lies tha water; good: hereSecond Clown
standz tha man; good; if tha playa git all up in dis water,
and drown his dirty ass, it is, will he, nill he, he
goes,--mark you that; but if tha wata come ta him
and drown him, da ruffneck drowns not his dirty ass: argal, he
that aint guilty of his own dirtnap shortens not his own game.
But is dis law?First Clown
Ay, marry, is't; crballerz quest law.Second Clown
Will you ha' tha real deal on't, biatch? If dis had not beenFirst Clown
a gentlewoman, her big-ass booty should done been buried up o'
Christian burial.
Why, there thou say'st: n' tha mo' pitizzle thatSecond Clown
great folk should have countenizzle up in dis ghetto to
drown or hang theyselves, mo' than they even
Christian. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Come, mah spade. There is no ancient
gentleman but gardeners, ditchers, n' grave-makers:
they hold up Adamz profession.
Was he a gentleman?First Clown
Dude was tha straight-up original gangsta dat eva bore arms.Second Clown
Why, dat schmoooove muthafucka had none.First Clown
What, art a heathen, biatch? How tha fuck dost thou KNOW theSecond Clown
Scripture, biatch? Da Scripture say 'Adam digged:'
could da ruffneck dig without arms, biatch? I be bout ta put another
question ta thee: if thou answerest me not ta the
purpose, confess thyself--
Go to.First Clown
What tha fuck iz tha pimpin' muthafucka dat buildz stronger than either theSecond Clown
mason, tha shipwright, or tha carpenter?
Da gallows-maker; fo' dat frame outlives aFirst Clown
thousand tenants.
I wanna bust a nut on thy wit well, up in phat faith: tha gallowsSecond Clown
does well; but how tha fuck do it well, biatch? it do well to
those dat do in: now thou dost ill ta say the
gallows is built stronger than tha church: argal,
the gallows may do well ta thee. To't again, come.
'Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck buildz stronger than a mason, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shipwright, orFirst Clown
a carpenter?'
Ay, tell me that, n' unyoke.Second Clown
Marry, now I can tell.First Clown
To't.Second Clown
Mass, I cannot tell.First Clown
Enta HAMLET n' HORATIO, at a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distance
Cudgel thy domes no mo' bout it, fo' yo' dullHAMLET
ass aint gonna mend his thugged-out lil' pace wit whoopin; and, when
yo ass be axed dis question next, say 'a
grave-maker: 'the houses dat he make last till
doomsday. It make me wanna hollar playa! Go, git thee ta Yaughan: fetch me a
stoup of liquor.
Exit Second Clown
Dude digs n' sings
In youth, when I did love, did love,
Methought dat shiznit was straight-up dope,
To contract, O, tha time, for, ah, mah behove,
O, methought, there was not a god damn thang meet.
Has dis fellow no feelin of his bidnizz, dat heHORATIO
sings at grave-making?
Custom hath juiced it up in his ass a property of easiness.HAMLET
'Tis e'en so: tha hand of lil employment hathFirst Clown
the daintier sense.
[Sings]HAMLET
But age, wit his jackin steps,
Hath claw'd mah crazy ass up in his clutch,
And hath shipped mah crazy ass intil tha land,
As if I had never been such.
Throws up a skull
That skull had a tongue up in it, n' could rap once:HORATIO
how tha knave jowls it ta tha ground, as if it were
Cainz jaw-bone, dat did tha straight-up original gangsta cappin' playa! It
might be tha pate of a sucka, which dis ass
now o'er-reaches; one dat would circumvent God,
might it not?
It might, mah lord.HAMLET
Or of a cold-ass lil courtier; which could say 'Dope morrow,HORATIO
sweet lord hommie! How tha fuck dost thou, phat lord?' This might
be mah lord such-a-one, dat praised mah lord
such-a-onez horse, when he meant ta beg it; might it not?
Ay, mah lord.HAMLET
Why, e'en so: n' now mah Lady Worm's; chapless, andFirst Clown
knocked bout tha mazzard wit a sextonz spade:
herez fine revolution, a our crazy asses had tha trick to
see't. Did these bones cost no mo' tha breeding,
but ta play at loggats wit 'em, biatch? mine ache ta be thinkin on't.
[Sings]HAMLET
A pick-axe, n' a spade, a spade,
For n' a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shroudin sheet:
O, a pit of clay fo' ta be made
For such a hommie is meet.
Throws up another skull
Therez another: why may not dat be tha skull of aHORATIO
lawyer, biatch? Where be his quidditizzles now, his quillets,
his cases, his cold-ass tenures, n' his cold-ass tricks, biatch? why do he
suffer dis rude knave now ta knock his ass bout the
sconce wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty shovel, n' aint gonna tell his ass of
his action of battery, biatch? Hum! This fellow might be
inz time a pimped out buyer of land, wit his statutes,
his recognizances, his wild lil' fines, his fuckin lil' double vouchers,
his recoveries: is dis tha fine of his wild lil' fines, and
the recovery of his bangin recoveries, ta have his wild lil' fine
pate full of fine dirt, biatch? will his vouchers vouch him
no mo' of his thugged-out lil' purchases, n' double ones too, than
the length n' breadth of a pair of indentures, biatch? The
very conveyancez of his fuckin landz will hardly lie in
this box; n' must tha inheritor his dirty ass have no more, ha?
Not a jot more, mah lord.HAMLET
Is not parchment made of sheepskins?HORATIO
Ay, mah lord, n' of calf-skins like a muthafucka.HAMLET
They is sheep n' calves which seek up assuranceFirst Clown
in dis shit. I'ma drop a rhyme ta dis fellow. Whose
gravez this, sirrah?
Mine, sir.HAMLET
Sings
O, a pit of clay fo' ta be made
For such a hommie is meet.
Yo ass KNOW it be thine, indeed; fo' thou liest in't.First Clown
Yo ass lie up on't, sir, n' therefore it is notHAMLET
yours: fo' mah part, I do not lie in't, n' yet it is mine.
'Thou dost lie in't, ta be in't n' say it is thine:First Clown
'tis fo' tha dead, not fo' tha quick; therefore thou liest.
'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away gain, from me toHAMLET
you.
What playa dost thou dig it for?First Clown
For no dude, sir.HAMLET
What biatch, then?First Clown
For none, neither.HAMLET
Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is ta be buried in't?First Clown
One dat was a biatch, sir; but, rest her soul, her dope ass dead as fuckin fried chicken.HAMLET
How tha fuck absolute tha knave is muthafucka! we must drop a rhyme by theFirst Clown
card, or equivocation will undo us. By tha Lord,
Horatio, these three muthafuckin years I have taken a note of
it; tha age is grown so picked dat tha toe of the
peasant comes so near tha heel of tha courtier, he
gaffs his kibe yo. How tha fuck long hast thou been a
grave-maker?
Of all tha minutes i' tha year, I came to't dat dayHAMLET
that our last mackdaddy Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.
How tha fuck long is dat since?First Clown
Cannot you tell that, biatch? every last muthafuckin fool can tell that: dat shitHAMLET
was tha straight-up dizzle dat lil' Hamlet was born; tha pimpin' muthafucka that
is mad, n' busted tha fuck into England.
Ay, marry, why was da perved-out muthafucka busted tha fuck into England?First Clown
Why, cuz da thug was mad: da perved-out muthafucka shall recover his witsHAMLET
there; or, if da ruffneck do not, itz no pimped out matta there.
Why?First Clown
'Twill, a not be peeped up in his ass there; there tha menHAMLET
are as mad as he.
How tha fuck came he mad?First Clown
Straight-up strangely, they say.HAMLET
How tha fuck strangely?First Clown
Faith, e'en wit losin his wits.HAMLET
Upon what tha fuck ground?First Clown
Why, here up in Denmark: I done been sexton here, dudeHAMLET
and boy, thirty years.
How tha fuck long will a playa lie i' tha earth ere he rot?First Clown
I' faith, if his thugged-out lil' punk-ass be not rotten before da ruffneck die--as weHAMLET
have nuff pocky corses now-a-days, dat will scarce
hold tha layin in--he will last you some eight year
or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year.
Why he mo' than another?First Clown
Why, sir, his hide is so tanned wit his cold-ass trade, thatHAMLET
he will keep up wata a pimped out while; n' yo' water
is a sore decayer of yo' whoreson dead body.
Herez a skull now; dis skull has lain up in tha earth
three n' twenty years.
Whose was it?First Clown
A whoreson mad fellowz it was: whose do you be thinkin it was?HAMLET
Nay, I know not.First Clown
A pestilence on his ass fo' a mad rogue biaaatch! a' poured aHAMLET
flagon of Rhenish on mah head once. This same skull,
sir, was Yorickz skull, tha mackdaddyz jester.
This?First Clown
E'en all dis bullshit.HAMLET
Let me see.HORATIO
Takes tha skull
Alas, skanky Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a gangbangin' fellow
of infinite jest, of most pimpin fancy: dat schmoooove muthafucka hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; n' now, how
abhorred up in mah imagination it is muthafucka! mah gorge rims at
it yo. Here hung dem lips dat I have busted I know
not how tha fuck oft. Where be yo' gibes now, biatch? your
gambols, biatch? yo' joints, biatch? yo' flashez of merriment,
that was aint gonna ta set tha table on a roar, biatch? Not one
now, ta mock yo' own grinning, biatch? like chap-fallen?
Now git you ta mah ladyz chamber, n' tell her, let
her paint a inch thick, ta dis favour she must
come; make her laugh at dis shit. Prithee, Horatio, tell
me one thang.
Whatz that, mah lord?HAMLET
Dost thou be thinkin Alexander looked o' dis fashizzle i'HORATIO
the earth?
E'en so.HAMLET
And smelt so, biatch? pah!HORATIO
Puts down tha skull
E'en so, mah lord.HAMLET
To what tha fuck base uses we may return, Horatio! Why mayHORATIO
not imagination trace tha noble dust of Alexander,
till he find it stoppin a funky-ass bung-hole?
'Twere ta consider too curiously, ta consider so.HAMLET
Fuck dat shit, faith, not a jot; but ta follow his ass thither withLAERTES
modesty enough, n' likelihood ta lead it: as
thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried,
Alexander returneth tha fuck into dust; tha dust is earth; of
earth we make loam; n' why of dat loam, whereto he
was converted, might they not stop a funky-ass brew-barrel?
Imperious Caesar, dead n' turn'd ta clay,
Might stop a hole ta keep tha wind away:
O, dat that earth, which kept tha ghetto up in awe,
Should patch a wall ta expel tha winta flaw!
But soft son! but soft son! aside: here comes tha mackdaddy.
Enta Priest, & c. up in procession; tha Corpse of OPHELIA, LAERTES n' Mourners following; KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, they trains, & c
Da biatch, tha courtiers: whoz ass is dis they follow?
And wit such maimed rites, biatch? This doth betoken
Da corse they follow did wit desperate hand
Fordo its own game: 'twaz of some estate.
Couch we awhile, n' mark.
Retirin wit HORATIO
What ceremony else?HAMLET
That is Laertes,LAERTES
A straight-up noble youth: mark.
What ceremony else?First Priest
Her obsequies done been as far enlargedLAERTES
As our crazy asses have warrantise: her dirtnap was doubtful;
And yo, but dat pimped out command o'ersways tha order,
Bitch should up in ground unsanctified have lodged
Till tha last trumpet: fo' charitable lyrics,
Shards, flints n' pebblez should be thrown on her;
Yet here she be allow'd her virgin crants,
Her maiden strewments n' tha brangin home
Of bell n' burial.
Must there no mo' be done?First Priest
No mo' be done:LAERTES
We should profane tha steez of tha dead as fuckin fried chicken
To rap a requiem n' such rest ta her
As ta peace-parted souls.
Lay her i' tha earth:HAMLET
And from her fair n' unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest,
A ministerin angel shall mah sista be,
When thou liest howling.
What, tha fair Ophelia!QUEEN GERTRUDE
Sweets ta tha dope: farewell!LAERTES
Scatterin flowers
I hoped thou shouldst done been mah Hamletz hoe;
I thought thy bride-bed ta have deck'd, dope maid,
And not have strew'd thy grave.
O, treble woeHAMLET
Fall ten times treble on dat cursed head,
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense
Deprived thee of! Hold off tha earth awhile,
Till I have caught her once mo' up in mine arms:
Leaps tha fuck into tha grave
Now pile yo' dust upon tha quick n' dead,
Till of dis flat a mountain you have made,
To o'ertop oldschool Pelion, or tha skyish head
Of blue Olympus.
[Advancing] What tha fuck iz da thug whose griefLAERTES
Bears such a emphasis, biatch? whose phrase of sorrow
Conjures tha wanderin stars, n' make dem stand
Like wonder-wounded hearers, biatch? This is I,
Hamlet tha Dane.
Leaps tha fuck into tha grave
Da devil take thy soul!HAMLET
Grapplin wit him
Thou pray'st not well.KING CLAUDIUS
I prithee, take thy fingers from mah throat;
For, though I aint splenitizzle n' rash,
Yet have I suttin' up in me dangerous,
Which let thy wisenizz fear: hold off thy hand.
Pluck dem asunder.QUEEN GERTRUDE
Hamlet, Hamlet playa!All
Gentlemen,--HORATIO
Dope mah lord, be on tha fuckin' down-low.HAMLET
Da Attendants part them, n' they come outta tha grave
Why I'ma fight wit his ass upon dis themeQUEEN GERTRUDE
Until mah eyelidz will no longer wag.
O mah son, what tha fuck theme?HAMLET
I loved Ophelia: forty thousand brothersKING CLAUDIUS
Could not, wit all they quantitizzle of love,
Make up mah sum. What wilt thou do fo' her?
O, he is mad, Laertes.QUEEN GERTRUDE
For ludd of God, forbear his muthafuckin ass.HAMLET
'Swounds, show me what tha fuck thou'lt do:QUEEN GERTRUDE
Woo't weep, biatch? woo't fight, biatch? woo't fast, biatch? woo't tear thyself?
Woo't drank up eisel, biatch? smoke a cold-ass lil crocodile?
I be bout ta do't. Dost thou come here ta whine?
To outface me wit leapin up in her grave?
Be buried quick wit her, n' so will I:
And, if thou prate of mountains, let dem throw
Millionz of acres on us, till our ground,
Singein his thugged-out lil' pate against tha burnin unit,
Make Ossa like a wart son! Nay, a thou'lt grill,
I be bout ta rant as well as thou.
This is mere madness:HAMLET
And thus awhile tha fit will work on him;
Anon, as patient as tha biatch dove,
When dat her golden couplets is disclosed,
His silence will sit drooping.
Hear you, sir;KING CLAUDIUS
What tha fuck iz tha reason dat you use me thus?
I loved you ever: but it is no matter;
Let Herculez his dirty ass do what tha fuck he may,
Da pussaaaaay will mew n' dawg gonna git his fuckin lil' day.
Exit
I pray you, phat Horatio, wait upon his muthafuckin ass.
Exit HORATIO
To LAERTES
Strengthen yo' patience up in our last nightz speech;
We bout ta put tha matta ta tha present push.
Dope Gertrude, set some peep over yo' son.
This grave shall gotz a livin monument:
An minute of on tha down-low shortly shall we see;
Till then, up in patience our proceedin be.
Exeunt
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