shitr

PAPA UBU: Shitr!

MAMA UBU: Oh! such language! Papa Ubu, thou art a big bad boy.

PAPA UBU: What stoppeth me from slaying thee, Mama Ubu?

MAMA UBU: It is not I, Papa Ubu, it is someone else who should be assassinated.

PAPA UBU: By my green candlestick, I understand not.

MAMA UBU: What, Papa Ubu, are you happy with your lot?

PAPA UBU: By my green candlestick, shitr! My dear, verily, verily, I am happy. A man could be happy with less: captain of the Dragoons, an officer who has the confidence of King Wenceslas, decorated with the Order of the Red Eagle of Poland, and former King of Aragon, what more could you want?

MAMA UBU: What! You, who were once King of Aragon, you now think it's good enough to march in a parade at the head of forty attendants armed with cabbage-cutters? When after the crown of Aragon you could place the crown of Poland on your noggin?

PAPA UBU: Ah, Mama Ubu, I can't understand a word you say.

MAMA UBU: You're so dumb!

PAPA UBU: By my green candlestick, King Wenceslas is still very much alive; and even assuming he dies, does he not have swarms of children?

MAMA UBU: What's stopping you from massacrating the whole family and taking their place?

PAPA UBU: Ah, Mama Ubu, you are insulting me and you will soon get dumped into the lobster-pot.

MAMA UBU: Ah! miserable wretch, if I got dumped into the lobster pot, who then would mend the seat of your pants?

PAPA UBU: Hey, come on! Don't I have an ass like everybody else?

MAMA UBU: If I were you, it's that very ass I'd want to put on a throne. You could get infinitely rich, eat stuffed sausage all the time, and drive through the streets in a horse and carriage.

PAPA UBU: If I were King, I'd have a big cape made like the one I had in Aragon that those rascally Spaniards impudently stole from me.

MAMA UBU: You could also get an umbrella and a big pea-jacket that goes all the way down to your heels.

PAPA UBU: Oh, I'll give in to the temptation. For shitr's sake, for sake's shitr, if I ever meet him somewhere in the woods, he'll have a hard time of it.

MAMA UBU: Oh good! Papa Ubu, now you have become a real man.

PAPA UBU: Oh no! a Captain of the Dragoons massacrating the King of Poland! Never! I'd die first!

MAMA UBU: (aside) Oh, shitr! (to Ubu:) So, you will remain poor as a church-rat, Papa Ubu.

PAPA UBU: Oddsbellyzooks, by my green candleskick, I'd rather be poor as a good thin rat than rich as a wicked fat cat.

MAMA UBU: What about the cape? and the umbrella? and the great big pea-jacket?

PAPA UBU: Well, what about them, Mama Ubu? Who needs them? (He exits, slamming the door.)

MAMA UBU: Shitr, he was an old meanie, but shitr, I do think I have shaken him. Thank God and myself! In a week I may be Queen of Poland.

Well, it's accessible.