To dee or not to dee, that’s mi conundrum.


Is it best t’pudup wi’ all t’weight,

this life lumps on thi showders or feight.

Tek on t’world an’ punce ‘ard ad its shins,

mekkin sure that despair never wins.

Do ah put mi ‘ead down an’ just ‘ope,

that wi’ tears, th’aches an’ pains I con cope.

All o’ t’strife that is life disappear,

wishful thinkin’ as t’darkness draws near.

Just to turn up thi toes an’ to dream,

wi con ponder life’s murderous scheme.

All th‘assle o’ three score an’ ten,

o’er agen an’ agen an’ agen.

What mon reight in ‘is ’ead would attempt,

life o’ browbeatin’, rite an’ contempt.

All o’ t’sorrow an’ t’swagger o’ t’foo’,

tek thi shank up an’ cawidadoo.

Cartin’ t’burdens wi garner in life,

will’st find th’answer on sharp o’ thi knife.

Much too freight’nd  to let go an’ dee,

off towards th’undiscovered countree.

T’realm wi no return ticket to find,

rayless ’aunt, bloody awful to mind.

meks us puddup wi t’malice wi ken,

for all t’malice we’d know only when?

Ancient fear thad meks us all yello’,

an’ t’dreams an’ all th’ambitions mello’

clouds our thinkin’ an’ leads us astray,

when wi all end up losin’ our way?


Ophelia, bonny lass, tha marn’t forget mi antics in thi prayers!




Here, Hamlet is thinking about suicide. He wonders whether he should continue to put up with all the bashings he gets from life or to oppose them by ending it all.

He contemplates dying. Is it like sleeping?  Is it wishful thinking that by sleeping we can end the heartaches that human beings have to endure. Perhaps in that sleep of death we will dream and that must make us stop and think.

Who would accept all the terrible things that oppress us, when it can be ended with a naked blade?  Who would bear the burden of life except for the dread of the life after death, that undiscovered country from which no-one ever returns?

It puzzles us and makes us put up with those ills we have rather than rush to others that we don't know anything about.

So our conscience makes cowards of us, and the new determination to do something is clouded by thinking about it and in that way great ideas and plans lose their momentum.

A bleak insight of Hamlet's state of mind.