tlhIngan-Hol Archive: Sat May 15 12:40:25 1999
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- From: Flame 4 God <email@example.com>
- Subject: [KLBC]Shakespeare
- Date: Sat, 15 May 1999 13:37:11 -0600
well, an attempt at juliets soliliquoy, really unsure if got it right
though, is it even close?
pItlh; maghomchuqqa'DI' 'e' Sov vav'a'
\Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
\\Done! Father knows when we meet eachother again
vIghaj |fear|Hom'e' bIr 'e' 'aDwIjmeyDaq qet
\I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
\\i have a small fear that runs in my veins
'e' taDmoHlaw' yIntuj
\That almost freezes up the heat of life:
\\that seems to freeze life-heat
vIpoQqang cheghqa'meH munaD
\I'll call them back again to comfort me:
\\i am ready to demand them to return to commend me
ghojmoq! nuq ta'Daq?
\Nurse! What should she do here?
\\nurse! what would she accomplish here?
'ItghachQujwIj jIQujnISqu' 'ej jImobnISQu'
\My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
\\my depressing game, i need to act, and need to be alone
\What if this mixture do not work at all?
\\what if it does ~not~ work?
wa'les jInay jIHvaj'a'?
\Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
\\tomorrow, then am i married?
Qo'! 'e' tuch 'oH'e': pa' yIQot
\No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.
\\No! i refuse! it forbids that: lie there!
\[Laying down her dagger]
\\[she drops the dagger]
tar 'oH'e'chugh nuq,
\What if it be a poison,
\\what if it be poisen
jIH muHoHmeH munobpu'meH vumwI'
\which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
\\the friar has given me, in order to kill me?
\Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
\\if he is afraid this marriage will dishonor him
\Because he married me before to Romeo?
\\if he has married us
'oHvIp jIH, 'a, jIHar, 'oHlaw'be'
\I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,
\\i fear it is, even so i believe, it is seemingly not,
tobpu', QoQbej ghaH
\For he hath still been tried a holy man.
\\he has been proven a good man
[to be continued...??]
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed:
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:--