Hickbeth:  A Study of Northern New England Dialect

Using Shakespeare's "Macbeth" as a Source Text

Macbeth (1.3.126-141)

MACBETH [aside]  Two truths are told,                                              126
As happy prologues to the swelling act,
Of the imperial theme. [To ROSS and ANGUS]   I thank you, gentlemen.
[Aside]  This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good. If ill,                                                      130
Why hath it given me earnest of success
Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of Cawdor.
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs                                        135
Against the use of nature?  Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
Is smothered in surmise, and nothing is                                                140
But what is not.

Hickbeth:  Macbeth (1.3.126-141) in Rural Maine Dialect

HICKBETH [to no one in pa’ticula]  Know two things fa sho’a,

          I’m tellin you,                                                                                   126

Bout as fat-happy as a pig eatin shit
Right outta-a grand ol’ compos’ pile. [To RUSTY and ANGUS]

          Thanks, fellas.
[To no one in pa’ticula]  All this damn exta’trestrial beggin-fa
Ain’t liable be bad, sure as shit can’t be good:  if’s bad,                   130
What in Hell it get my hopes up fa, fame ‘n fo’tun,
Tellin me like’s true?  I’m a gunsmith fa Chrissake:
If’s good, why in Hell do I e’en consider chasin a fart through

          a keg-a nails,
such a goddamn disgustin sight, liable to make ya hai’rot off ya head
An’ give ya arteri’l fibrulations fa Chrissake or-a coronary,              135
Gainst a nice country fa’m?  Scary stuff
But less than sleepin in a graveyard, I spose:
My bet, e’en if I gotta better chance winnin the Megabucks,
Shakes my manhood ta-a shiver so’s all I’n do
Gets ground inta compos’, an’ ain’t a thing that is,                            140
Cept what ain’t.