The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
As I was headed to Elsinore,
I met a group of companion. Four
Worthy people with hearts full of woe,
Dressed in black from head to toe.
A scholar, a king, a servant, a maid,
Aside from the road, resing in th' shade.
I stopped and inquired why they thus travel'd
O'er this old, old road heavily gravell'd.
They replied that on this very day,
They were headed up Canterbury way
In England. Tehy were headed there
To spend a week in most holy pray'r.
It seemed that tragedy had o'erfallen
Denmark. Many were dead, both small 'an
Great. The scholar was none but Horatio;
Friend to all, and none to foe.
He was the friend of th' Prince of Denmark,
Who three days now lay in the dark.
King Fortinbras, formerly of Norway,
O'er the whole of Denmark, now held sway.
He was in grief, yet ready to fight
For honour, like any good Knight.
Reynaldo, the servant of Polonius
Who had, while alive, served King Claudius.
With his master dead, as was Claudius th' King,
His purpose in life held not a thing.
Candace, his siter, the maid o' th' dead man's daughter,
Ophelia, who went as tipsy as a teeter-totter,
Was also purposeless in her life,
And her hear was with worry and strife.
Now I beg for your mercy and grace
If some of these tales seem vulgar or base.
I report only, that which I heard,
But occasionally omitted the vulgarest word.
These tales are here in all fullness,
so, grab a mug, and take a rest.
I hope that I can your interest spark
With the Tragedy of "Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark."
The Maid's Prologue
Forgive me if my tale is brief,
For I'm o'erwrought with mind-numbing grief.
For my mistress, Ophelia, lies down under
Six feet of earth, and my heart is torn asunder.
The Maid's Tale
My name is Candace, though most call me Candi,
And with my mistress' needs, I was most handy.
I sewed, I cooked, I wove, and I waited
At Ophelia's plate, 'til her appetite was sated.
Oh oh oh alas! that I should see
The extinction of such a family.
Ophelia, Polonius, and merry Laertes
Gone forever with nary a breeze
Of air in their cold, cold graves
with their bodies now to the worms as slaves.
Oh! that such a tragedy took place
Must mean that we are fallen from His grace;
And left to our own. . .to die. . .to dust. . .
To give up our bodies as all mortals must.
Upon learning of Hamlet's murd'rous deed,
Ophelia fell into the gravest need;
Her mind, from her body, took it's leave
And left her poor sould to cry and grieve.
And thus the cause of her madness
Stemming from grief and great sadness.
Rosemary, fennel, pansies and rue
Daisies and columbines to name just a few
Of the flowers she mentioned - those she gave out
Her speech nonsensical - left not a doubt
Of her madness in poor Laertes' mind
And he set off for vengeance to find.
And. . . . . .Alas, I can say no more
For in my mind, the mem'ry's still sore.
but thanks to Horatio, a beacon of calm
Who, to my mind, acts like a balm.
He helps me through my sorrow and pain
Though his own loss is also insane.
The Scholar's Prologue
Nay fair lady, mention it not,
For however I can help you, as God wot,
I will do it. For though he was my friend
Your pain, more than mine, cause my heart to rend.
If I could, your pain I would take
And from that, I a blessing would make
For by easing the pain of your aching heart,
Together we can make a brand new start.
The Scholar's Tale
Though Hamlet was conceited and vain to the end,
I always strove to remain his friend.
So that through my "selfless" loyalty
Perhaps I could make use of this royalty.
I had hoped that once he had gained the throne
My life, again, would be my own.
Hamlet, you see, needed someone
To listen to his fears, his tears, and his awful puns.
"To be or not to be" many people think
That he lurked on suicide's brink,
However, "2B" was Ophelia's chamber
He was debating on visiting her.
"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind
To suffer" abse of that kind.
The sea of troubles was none other but
His desire to take Ophelia and rut.
Alas that he came to know his fate
For when he did, 'twas entirely too late
To change that which was already done,
His shouting for Ophelia to become a nun.
For then the chasm betwixt them grew
So that neither had the power for the taming of the shrew.
Alas! Alas for Denmark! Alas for Polonius!
Alas for Hamlet and Laertes! Alas for Claudius
That he repented not of his deed most fell
And now resides in the bottom of Hell.
Alas for Ophelia, the fairest e'er made!
(except of course, for Candi, her maid)
Alas for the evil I saw
The breaking of God's sacred law.
The King's Tale
We* are Fortinbras. We hold sway
O'er all o' Denmark and Norway.
Hamlet, upon his final breath
Spoke the words, that upon his death
We would be king, and here we are
O'ertired with grief and not up to par.
Our tale is brief, for we weren't involved
With the plot that Hamlet's life has solved.
All we know is that he did his thing,
And doing thus, named us king.
But now we're off - up Canterbury way
In jolly England, in order to pray
At the shrine of Thomas of Beckett
To absolve our country of its debt
To God. That we had a murd'rous king
In the eyes of God is no mean thing.
Thus for the good of our country we go
E'en though we're o'ercome with woe.
Reynaldo, it seems, had sworn not to utter
A word, for fear that his mouth would mutter
'Gainst God for slaying his master's family
But as for me, between me and thee,
I though he was still in shock
For finding his life was sand, not rock.
And then discovering his sister's love
For Horatio. For he wasn't above
Being deceitful in order to find
The truth and the teller's state of mind.
For he had employed this talent
For Polonius when he was sent
To check up on Laertes
In grand old Paris.
But now, my accounting of this tragedy is done,
It's time to move on to something more fun.
I'm chronicling the tale of two lovers who met. . .
It's called the tale of "Romeo and Juliet".
But until then I bid you to take care
And remember me always in your prayer.
For I am just a lowly scribe
Who is far too honest to take a bribe
To hide the truth; so I've eneimes galore
For telling the truth in Peace and War.
Fare thee well, and I hope you'll not forget
This tragedy of Denmark's Prince - Hamlet.
* Notice that Fortinbras is speaking in the royal "we" which shows he is considered the represenative of his country and its population. Thus the plural pronoun.
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