My Darling Clementine Page #3

- Yes, sir. Thank you.

Gentlemen.

- Your health.

- Your health, Doc.

Thank you.

Come, my good man. Give me service,

or I'll take my patronage elsewhere.

Your foot, sir.

Champagne.

- The actor in tonight's show.

- Shakespeare in Tombstone.

Coming right up, Mr. Shakespeare.

It's been a long time since

I've heard Shakespeare.

How would you like

to join me tonight?

Yeah, fine.

See he gets to the theater

or there won't be a show.

- Mac, cash in for me, will you?

- Yes, sir.

Take Mr. Thorndyke

to the Bird Cage.

Bird Cage? You're incarcerating

me in a bird cage, sir?

- That's the name of the theater.

- The theater? The show!

Good heavens, the show must go on.

Lead on.

Drinks on the house.

May I present my

friend, Wyatt Earp.

Him? A friend?

- "He." Not "him."

- Well, he or him.

He ain't no friend of mine.

What she's trying to say,

Doc, is, we've met before.

Sort of found ourselves together

in a eight-handed poker game.

Ladies...

and gentlemen.

Owing to circumstances that

I had nothing to do with...

the show The Convict's Oath

will not appear tonight.

But as if I didn't already

have enough trouble...

that eminent actor, that

sterling tragedian...

Mr. Granville...

Thorndyke!

has completely disappeared.

Wait a minute. What are

you acting so mad about?

This is the fourth time

this year this happened.

Bird imitators. Bird

imitators, that's all we get.

- I can explain that.

- What are you fixing to do?

Be reasonable. All we want to

do is ride him round town...

a couple of times on the rail.

Well, that sounds

reasonable enough to me.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

I got a better idea.

Just give me 15 minutes and I

think I can find this Mr...

Thorndyke!

I'll bring him back here. Now sit down.

Take your seats and have another beer.

Look, Yorick, can't you give

us nothing but them poems?

I have a very large

repertoire, sir.

Great. All right, Yorick,

go ahead. Shoot.

Minstrel, pray help me.

Wait. I want to hear this.

Thank you.

To be, or not to be,

that is the question...

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind...

to suffer the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune...

or to take arms against

a sea of troubles...

and by opposing, end them.

To die, to sleep, no more...

and by a sleep to say we

end the heartaches...

and the thousand natural

shocks that flesh is heir to.

'Tis a consummation

devoutly to be wished.

To die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

Ay, there's the rub...

for in that sleep of death...

what dreams may come when we have

shuffled off this mortal coil...

That's enough. That's enough.

You don't know nothing

but them poems.

You can't sing.

Maybe you can dance.

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