If 't be true we useth shakespearean english, p'rhaps our arguments wouldst beest m're compelling

Author: MisterChris

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#1
MisterChris
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If 't be true we useth shakespearean english, p'rhaps our arguments wouldst beest m're compelling. The elegance of mine own w'rds seep into the souls of the readeth'rs at which hour i speaketh in this tongue, wh'reas bef're mine own w'rds w're hath lost in the void. 

Forsooth, i bethink i shouldst publish all of mine own arguments in this tongue
#2
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And people complain about me for using manners like the one I am using right now on personal chats. Guess I can use, to them who they are so annoyed that they cannot bear to chat to use Shakespearean English.
#3
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@MisterChris
Verily, thou art art wise. Her Majesty's English is a noble tongue. 'Tis truly a pity th't the common folk have forsaken it.
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#4
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@SirAnonymous
Forsooth! we of true gentle spirit might not but keepeth ourselves purified of the ingraft riff raff
#5
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@MisterChris
Yea, verily, and just so.
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#6
MisterChris
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What the alas didst thee just fucking sayeth about me, thee dram wench? i'll has't thee knoweth i graduat'd top of mine own class in the navy seals, and i've been involv'd in num'rous secret raids on al-quaeda, and i has't ov'r 300 confirm'd kills. I am did train in g'rilla warfare and i'm the top snip'r in the entire us cap-a-pe f'rces. Thou art nothing to me but just anoth'r targeteth. I shall wipeth thee the alas out with precision the likes of which hast nev'r been seen bef're on this earth, marketh mine own fucking w'rds. Thee bethink thee can receiveth hence with declaring yond the horror to me ov'r the int'rnet? bethink again, alas'r. As we speaketh i am contacting mine own secret netw'rk of spies across the usa and thy ip is being trac'd even but now so thee bett'r prepareth f'r the st'rm, maggot. The st'rm yond wipes out the pathetic dram thing thee calleth thy life. Thou art fucking dead, peat. I can beest anywh're, anytime, and i can killeth thee in ov'r seven hundr'd ways, and yond's just with mine own bareth hands. Not only am i extensively did train in unarm'd combat, but i has't access to the entire arsenal of the unit'd states marine c'rps and i shall useth t to its full extent to wipeth thy mis'rable rampallian off the visage of the continent, thee dram the horror. If 't be true only thee couldst has't known what unholy retribution thy dram "clev'r" comment wast about to bringeth down upon thee, haply thee wouldst has't did hold thy fucking tongue. But thee couldn't, thee didn't, and anon thou art paying the price, thee goddamn clotpole. I shall the horror fury all ov'r thee and thee shall drowneth in t. Thou art fucking dead, kiddo
#7
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@MisterChris
Keep thy serpentine tongue behind thy teeth, thou puny bat-fowling fustilarian! Hon'r'bly have I treated thee, yet thou hast spewed forth a bitt'r torrent of vitriol and calumny. Thy language shalt surely wither thy mother, anger thy father, and smite thy grandmother with its cruel venom. Nary a curse have I spit at thee, but thou dost spit them with beastly ferocity. Verily, thou beest a mere idol of idiot-worshippers. The virtuous look upon your curs's and mock thy utter folly. Begone, ere I draw my sword and usher thee hence!



With a little help from the Shakespearean Insulter.
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#8
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@SirAnonymous
Thou art swine thee vulgar dram maggot. Thee not knoweth yond thou art pathetic? thee worthless container of filth. As we sayeth in california, i'll did bet thee couldn't pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. Thou art a canker. A sore yond wonneth't wend hence. A zit on the buttocks of society. I would rather kiss a lawyer than beest seen with thee.

thou art a fiend and a coward, and thee has't lacking valor breath.  Thou art degenerate, noxious and deprav'd.  I feeleth debas'd just f'r knowing thee exist.  I despise everything about thee.  Thou art a bloody nardless newbie twit protohominid chromosomally aberrant caricature of a coprophagic cloacal parasitic pond scum and i give you would wend hence.

thou art a putrescence mass, a walking heave the gorge.  Thou art a spineless dram worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt.  Thou art a jackanapes, a cad, a weasel.  Thy life is a monument to stupidity.  Thou art a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

thou art a bleating blinking idiot, a curdl'd staggering mutant dwarf smear'd richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying thy alleg'd birth into this ordinary.  An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, masterless by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who is't sir'd thee and then hath killed themselves in recognition of what they hadst done.

i shall nev'r receiveth ov'r the embarrassment of proper to the same species as thee.  Thou art a cockatrices, an ogre, a malformity.  I barf at the very bethought of thee.  Thee has't all the appeal of a pap'r cutteth.  Lepers avoid thee.  Because off thy visage the rabbit population actually did decrease.  Thou art vile, worthless, less than nothing.  Thou art a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth.  And didst i mention thee smelleth?

if 't be true thee aren't an clotpole, thee madeth a world-class effort at simulating one.

thee snail-skull'd dram rabbit.  Would yond a hawk pick thee up, drive its beak into thy brain, and upon finding t rancid setteth thee loose to fly briefly ere spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of thy ignoble blood.  May thee choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of thy own trite, foolish beliefs.

thou art weary, stale, champain and unprofitable.  Thou art grimy, squalid, nasty and profane.  Thou art foul and disgusting.  Thou art a blinking idiot, an ignoramus.  Monkeys behold down on thee.  Coequal sheep wonneth't has't amorous rite with thee.  Thou art unreservedly pathetic, starv'd f'r attention, and hath lost in a land yond reality did forget.

thou art a waste of flesh.  Thee has't nay rhythm.  Thou art ridiculous and obnoxious.  Thou art the moral equivalent of a leech.  Thou art a living emptiness, a meaningless void.  Thou art sour and senile.  Thou art a disease, thee puerile one-hand'd slack-jaw'd drooling meatslapper.

on a valorous day thou art a half-wit.  Thee remind me of drool.  Thou art deficient in all yond lends character.  Thee has't the personality of wallpaper.  Thou art dank and filthy.  Thou art asinine and benight'd.  Thou art the source of all unpleasantness.  Thee did spread misery and sorrow wherev'r thee wend.

i cannot believeth how incredibly no more brain than stone thou art.  I cullionly rock-hard no more brain than stone.  Dehydrated-rock-hard no more brain than stone.  No more brain than stone so no more brain than stone yond t goeth way beyond the no more brain than stone we knoweth into a whole different dimension of no more brain than stone.  Thou art trans-stupid no more brain than stone.  Meta-stupid.  No more brain than stone did collapse on itself so far yond coequal the neutrons has't did collapse.  No more brain than stone gotten so dense yond nay intellect can escape.  Singularity no more brain than stone.  Blazing hot mid-day travelling lamp on mercury no more brain than stone.  Thee emit moo no more brain than stone in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year.  Quasar no more brain than stone.  Thy writing hast to beest a troll.  Nothing in our universe can very much beest this no more brain than stone.  Peradventure this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of no more brain than stone.  Some pure essence of a no more brain than stone so uncontaminat'd by aught else as to beest beyond the laws of physics yond we knoweth.  I'm my most humble apology.  I can't wend on.  This is an epiphany of no more brain than stone f'r me.  After this, thee may not heareth from me again f'r a while.  I has't not enow strength hath left to deride thy ignorant questions and half bak'd comments about unimportant trivia, 'r any of the rest of this drivel.  Duh.

haply anon in life, after thee has't learn'd to readeth, writeth, spell, and count, thee shall has't moo success.  True, these art rudimentary arts yond many of us "normal" people taketh f'r did grant yond everyone hast an easy time of mastering.  But we oft forget yond thither art "challenged" persons in this ordinary who is't findeth these things moo sore.  I give you the most wondrous of luck in the emotional, and social struggles yond seemeth to beest placing such a hest on thee.

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#9
MisterChris
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@SirAnonymous
Sources:

R/copypasta & Shakespearean Translator
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@MisterChris
Truly, thy utterances were jovial and merry. Well done. P'rhaps 'twas foolish to giveth thee such a fine fount of furious fire, but not likely. Alas, however, alas for the original spirit! For I only copied but two phrases from the Bard, yet thou hast done naught but copy! Should I then tell him, p'rhaps, of another like it? Not wise, but irresistible. So spake a wise man: "The excrement of the eagle can boast that it comes from the eagle's body even though it stinks and is useless; and so you can also be of the nobility. You people are and remain people, that is, swine and senseless beasts." -Martin Luther (Insulter)
#11
oromagi
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Julius Caesar
ACT III scene ii

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

#12
oromagi
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HENRY V
ACT IV scene iii

Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING HENRY V
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Re-enter SALISBURY
SALISBURY
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
KING HENRY V
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
WESTMORELAND
Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
KING HENRY V
Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
WESTMORELAND
God's will! my liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

#13
oromagi
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AS YOU LIKE IT
ACT II scene vii

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

#14
oromagi
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the MERCHANT of VENICE
ACT IV scene i

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

#15
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HAMLET
ACT II scene ii

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason!
how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how
express and admirable! in action how like an angel!
in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the
world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not
me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling
you seem to say so.

#16
oromagi
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(fucking beautiful)

ROMEO and JULIET
ACT III scene ii

Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.

Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites

By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,

Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.




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#17
MisterChris
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@SirAnonymous
If 't be true thee wanteth 'riginality, so beest t! if 't be true i am the excrement of an eagle, thou art the doo doo of a sparrow. Forsooth, thou art the protoplasmic inv'rtebrate jelly of a bawbling n'rth am'rican mammal! feeleth the wrath of mine own words!
#18
SirAnonymous
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@MisterChris
Ha! Oafish cur! Dost thou not know that mammals are ne'er invertebrate? Even thy fiercest obloquy is riddled with error. Yea, p'rhaps thou shouldst return to copying, for thought is surely beyond thy curdled brain.
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#19
MisterChris
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@SirAnonymous
The protoplasmic jelly hast not und'rstood mine own w'rds! how predictable! if 't be true one readeth's backeth, those gents shall seeth yond i hath said this: "f'rsooth, thou art the protoplasmic inv'rtebrate jelly of a bawbling n'rth am'rican mammal!"

thou art the inv'rtebrate jelly, not the sparrow! thy mistaketh is embarrassing, and thy ancest'rs art forsooth turning in their graves in shame!

#20
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@MisterChris
Forsooth, the madness has bewitched thee! Thou thinkest to thyself that thou art wise, yet thou speaketh and prove thyself a fool. Inv'rtebrate refers solely to creatures. Protoplasmic jelly can no more be inv'rtebrate than thy brain can think!
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#21
MisterChris
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@SirAnonymous
thee seeth, in the context of our discussion, the subject of the sentence wast thee, an animal! thus, semantically, the sentence hast an intelligible meaning. Thee shall not survive the night for thy folly, prepareth to square! i shall heave the gorge on thy livings, naughty mushrump! Thou vain half-faced horse-drench! Thou sanctimonious tardy-gaited giglet! Thou barbarous pottle-deep wrinkled-witch!

Thou... thee receiveth the idea.



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#22
MisterChris
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@TheUnderdog
Doth thee not und'rstand a jest at which hour thee seeth t? art thee dense as a stone, 'r art thou willfully avoidant of the sooth?
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#23
MisterChris
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@TheUnderdog
Has't at thee! we shall spar! prepareth yourself f'r a square to the death! O you beast! I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell.
#24
Dr.Franklin
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A++ thread
#25
Intelligence_06
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Oldspeak is ungood. Oldspeak is especially very ungood at conveying things that are plusgood because those ideas are limited by Oldspeak itself. Honestly, the thought of using Oldspeak should be crimethink. The thinkpol will probably put you in joycamp for using Oldspeak. Newspeak is a plusgood alternative to conveying thought, even oldthink.
#26
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How about if I push the newspeak thing even further?

Yough Dauhghtes, Britannianism s'nt sou ghuuoud, deoh.
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#27
MisterChris
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@Dr.Franklin
Forsooth!
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#28
MisterChris
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@Intelligence_06
Yond is not english, yond is monkey shart!
#29
SirAnonymous
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@Intelligence_06
The foul tongue of Big Brother shall ne'er prevail o'er us doughty souls of virtue!
#30
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@MisterChris
Oldspeak iz not language, Oldspeak is crumpling antique.