Seek ye a great and mighty tome for yer long, arduous sea voyage?
The bestest of books be by, about, and for pirates. But, besiden these tomes, the bestest book of the sea be “MOBY DICK”, but it be havin’ a problem. ‘Tis in need of translationalism into the foinest of speeches: PIRATE.
“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago–never mind how long precisely–havin’ little or no doubloons in me purse, and nothin’ particular t’ interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see t’ watery part o’ t’ world. It be a way I have of drivin’ off t’ spleen and regulatin’ t’ circulation.Whenever I find meself growin’ grim about t’ mouth; whenever it be a damp, drizzly November in me soul; whenever I find meself involuntarily pausin’ before coffin warehouses,and brin’in’ up t’ aft o’ every funeral I meet; and especially whenever me hypos get such an upper hand o’ me, that it requires a strong moral principle t’ prevent me from deliberately steppin’ into t’ street,and methodically knockin’ people’s hats off–then, I account it high time t’ get t’ sea as soon as I can. This be me substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his cutlas; I quietly take t’ t’ ship.There be nothin’ surprisin’ in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly t’ same feelin’s towards t’ ocean with me.”
THAT, me hearties, is a fine beginnin’ to a fine tale for a long, windless night.