This is the product of another of my aborted projects. An attempt to convert the entire text of Shakespeare's Hamlet into rhyming verses. I didn't get too far, but here is the result.

	MY VERSION	THE ORIGINAL
Barnardo:	Who goes there?	Who's there?
Francisco:	Nay, Answer me! Stand and unfold yourself, let me see,	Nay, Answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.
Barnardo:	Long live the king!	Long live the King!
Franciso:	Barnardo?	Barnardo?
Barnardo:	'Tis he	He.
Francisco:	Your punctuality puts you in good stead,	You come most carefully upon your hour.
Bernardo:	'Tis now struck twelve, get to your bed,	'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.
Francisco:	Thank you much for this relief, 'Tis bitter cold, my heart feels weak,	For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.
Bernardo:	A quiet Guard?	Have you had quiet guard?
Francisco:	Not a mouse did stir,	Not a mouse stirring.
Bernardo:	Well then I bid you good night sir, If Horatio and Marcellus you do meet, The rivals of my watch, speed them on their feet,	Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
Francisco:	I think I hear them, Who's there? Stand Ho!,	I think I hear them. Stand ho! Who is there?
Horatio:	Friends to this ground, not any foe,	Friends to this ground.
Marcellus:	Leigmen to the Dane,	And leigemen to the Dane.
Francisco:	I give you good night,	Give you good night.
Marcellus:	Farewell honest soldier, Who's releived you tonight?	O, farewell honest soldier. Who hath relieved you?
Francisco:	Barnardo has taken my place, goodnight again,	Barnado hath my place. Give you good night.
Marcellus:	Holla, Bernado!	Holla, Barnado!

Angels and ministers of grace defend!
Be thou a spirit of health or a goblin damned,
Bring airs from heaven or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comes in such a questinable frame,
That I'll speak to thee, I'll give you a name,
I'll call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane,
Do not let my ignorance burst me in vain,
Tell me why your blessed bones, hearsed in death,
Have burst from their grave, and walk as if with breath,
Why the tomb in which we saw thee quietly interred
Has opened up his ponderous and marbley Jaw
To cast thee up again, What may this mean?
That thou, dead corpse in full armour may be seen,
Revisiting thus the glimpses of the moon,
Making nights hideous...

Should I be or should I not?
Is it nobler in the mind to be shot,
By the slings and arrows of outrageous fate,
Or arms against a sea of troubles take,
And with those arms of supposition,
End that sea by opposition?

I have of late, I don't know why,
Lost all my mirth, so sad am I,
This goodly earth in which we stand,
Seems nothing more than sterile land,
This canopy so brave and high,
This majestic roof, the Sky,
Overhanging ever higher,
Fretted round with golden fire,
Appears to me a pestilent meeting,
Of vapours foul and sickly reeking,
What a peice of work is man!
His faculties have infinite span,
His noble reason metes ellation,
Express and admirable his formation,
His actions of Angelic stature,
His aprehension a Godlike rapture!
On his beauty the world's eyes feast,
The highest of the birds and beasts,
But to me what is this being of dust,
Man does not delight me, Nor do I lust,
For woman although by your smirk,
Such thoughts inside your mind do lurk,

The Rhyming Hamlet is ©Copyright Denys the Purple Wyrm 1999-2004