Ahoy! Four score an' se'en voyages ago th' old salts brought fore on

these waters, a new crew, free an' dedicated t' th' accord that all

swabs be on the account.

Now we be engaged in war amongst we brothers o' th' coast, testin'

whether that crew, or any crew so conceived an' so dedicated, can hold

fast. We be met on th' briney deep. We be gathered t' th' Spanish

Main, Davey Jone`s locker fer them who here gave the'r lives that th'

crew might sail. 't be altogether fittin' an' proper that we be ortin'

ta do this.

We canna dedicate -- we canna consecrate -- we canna hallow -- th'

deep. Scallywags, livin` or dead men be, layed by th' lee, be havin'

consecrated 't, far above our poor power t' add or detract. Ye`ll nay

strike th' colors, nor long reckon what we say here, but 't can

nereforget what they did here. 'Tis fer us th' livin', rather, t' be

dedicated here t' th' unfinished work which they who fought here be

havin' walked the plank. 'Tis rather fer us t' be comin' about t' th'

great task remainin' before us -- that from these honored dead we take

increased custom fer that cause which they gave th' last full peice of

eight -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall nay be

havin' sank t'Davy Jones' locker in vain -- that this crew, damn th'r

eyes, be havin' a new birth o' freedom -- an' that th' Articles o' th'

brethren, by th' brethren, fer th' brethren, shant dance wi' Jack

Ketch.





(Translated by Matt Webber)

