Finally, A Bit Of Culture

Jerry Reed, Co-Star of 1977s “Smokey and the Bandit” auditions for the role of Hamlet.

To be, or not to be, son,--well now that is a big 10/4 ain’t it?:--
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of that darned outrageous fortune
Well now, suppose we take arms against a sea o’ troubles,
And by opposing end them? Honey, hush!--To die,--to sleep,--
No more; and by a sleep to say what we end
That ol’ heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--weeeel, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd, you hear me boy? Yup, to die,--to sleep;--
To sleep! perchance to dream:--ha ha ha, there's the rub, son;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause, ha ha ha: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
C’mon Amos, who’d bear the whips and scorns of time,
The smokey's wrong, that ol’ Bandit’s contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, ha ha ha!
When he his-self might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
(what in heck is a fardel anyhow?)
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,--
That ol’ undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, son, --done puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we got
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; ha ha ha!
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, son;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action,
I’m eastbound and down, ha ha ha!
Aw shoot, I oughta be in Stratford-upon-Avon.