A pleasant morning to you.
Verily, I hath but missed the previous transport by a mere shake of a lambs tail, lest I would discourse from the rear carriage of the previous conveyance. Instead, my journey officially began thus at betwixt the seven o’clock hour.
Countrymen and gentlewomen! Tis been four and a half centuries since the birth of the Bard on this fateful day in the year of our lord fifteen hundred sixty four. I shall make poor sport of documenting my pedantic observations thus, with fluent and flourish, in the spirit of his linguistic cunning.
A pleasant, buxom young maiden sits yonder, examining the hillside as the massive transport progresses. Her tresses doth emanate like a fountain or foxtail from the center of the back of her head. What doth the idle mind contemplate, O Beauty Queen? Is the latest dramatis insignifique raging in that post pubescent media-messagable maelstrom of a mind? Our maiden grips her iCrackerBot as a child keeps hold of a favorite pet. What wonders are wandering wistfully where we wish to whisper?
Zounds! It may be but a trick of the light, forsooth, nay, is that a Samantha Bee I see before me? The journeywoman for whom I speak bears a striking resemblance to that broadcasted belle. Definitely a doppleganger, our delightful belle bears a brooch at the base if her neck. Methinks it is but a trinket, yet she caresses it while looking unfocused, a smile flashes briefly across her otherwise unexpressive face. She has lead a good life.
Present here are Benedict, Guildenstern, King Lear, and Othello. All are armed.