O, thet thees too too sulid flish would milt,This branched out. Peter Lorre as King Lear:
Thawr, ind resolve eetself eento a dyew!
Or thet the Iverlarsting hed not feex'd
Hees cenon 'gynst silf-slawtah! O God! God!
How weary, style, flet and unprofitable
Seem to me orll the uses of thees wuld!
Blow, winds, [oily giggle] and crack your cheeks!Mayor Quimby:
Yee caat-a-racts and hurricaaaaanoes, rage! Blow!
Two of the, er, fairest stahs in all the, er, heavensAl Swearengen:
Having some business, do, er, entreat her eyes
To, er, twinkle in their spheres till they, er, retuhn.
He doth bestride the narrow world(Actually, that last one reads pretty good, doesn't it... I can really hear Al saying it...)
Like a fuckin' Colossus, and we petty cocksuckers
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves fuckin' dishonourable graves.
Well, it beats working.