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Two Gentlemen of Lebowski

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lebowskititle.png

shakespearepicture.png

 

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

CHORUS



GEOFFREY “THE KNAVE” LEBOWSKI

BLANCHE and WOO, two thugs

SIR WALTER of Poland

SIR DONALD of Greece

BRANDT, serving-man of the Big Lebowski

SIR GEOFFREY OF LEBOWSKI, the Big Lebowski

BONNIE LEBOWSKI, his wife

OLIVER, her consort

JACK SMOKE, a cavalier

MAUDE LEBOWSKI, daughter of the Big Lebowski

JOSHUA QUINCE, a pederast

LIAM O’BRIEN, his partner

Two NIHILISTS

PLAYER QUEEN

MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern

KNOX HARRINGTON, a tapestry artist

DOCTOR BUTTS, a physician

PLAYERS for a dance

LAURENCE SELLERS

CLOWN

JAQUES TREEHORN

BROTHER SEAMUS, an Irish monk

A GRAVEDIGGER

 

Prologue

[Enter CHORUS]



CHORUS

In wayfarer’s worlds out west was once a man,

A man I come not to bury, but to praise.

His name was Geoffrey Lebowski called, yet

Not called, excepting by his kin.

That which we call a knave by any other name

Might bowl just as sweet. Lebowski, then,

Did call himself ‘the Knave’, a name that I,

Your humble chorus, would not self-apply

In homelands mine; but, then, this Knave was one

From whom sense was a burden to extract,

And of the arid vale in which he dwelt,

Also dislike in sensibility;

Mayhap the very search for sense reveals

The reason that it striketh me as most

Int’resting, yea, inspiring me to odes.

(In couplets first, and then a sonnet brave

As prologue to the tale of this the Knave.

Behold him, then, a-tumbling softly down

To pledge his love immortal to the ground.)

We stray now from fair Albion and from France

And see no Queen of bawdy songs and cheers

And in an angel's city take our chance

For stupefying tales to take our ears.

To war on Arab kings acoast we go,

Needing a man of times, though hero not;

Hear me call him not hero; what’s in a hero?

Sometimes there’s a man, your prologue’s thought.

The Knave, though scarcely man of honour’d grace,

Nor hero Olympian, nor yet employ’d,

Was nonetheless for all his time and place,

The man befits the circle he’s enjoy’d.

A man of lazy ways, of epic sloth;

But, losing train of thought, I’ve spake enough!

[He exits.]

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1.1

 

[THE KNAVE's house. Enter THE KNAVE, carrying parcels, and two THUGS. They fight]

 

BLANCHE

Whither the money, Lebowski? Faith, we are servants of Bonnie; promised by the lady good that thou in turn were good for’t.

 

WOO

Bound in honour, we must have our bond; cursed be our tribe if we forgive thee.

 

BLANCHE

Let us soak him in the commode, so as to turn his head.

 

WOO

Aye, and see what vapourises; then he will see what is foul.

 

[They insert his head into the commode]

 

BLANCHE

What dreadful noise of waters in thine ears! Thou hast cooled thine head; think now upon drier matters.

 

WOO

Speak now on ducats else again we’ll thee duckest; whither the money, Lebowski?

 

THE KNAVE

Faith, it awaits down there someplace; prithee let me glimpse again.

 

WOO

What, thou rash egg! Thus will we drown thine exclamations.

 

[They again insert his head into the commode]

 

BLANCHE

Trifle not with the fury of two desperate men. Long has thy wife sealed a bond with Jaques Treehorn; as blood is to blood, surely thou owest to Jaques Treehorn in recompense.

 

WOO

Rise, and speak wisely, man—but hark;

I see thy rug, as woven i’the Orient,

A treasure from abroad. I like it not.

I’ll stain it thus; ever thus to deadbeats.

 

[He stains the rug]

 

THE KNAVE

Sir, prithee nay!

 

BLANCHE

Now thou seest what happens, Lebowski, when the agreements of honourable business stand compromised. If thou wouldst treat money as water, flowing as the gentle rain from heaven, why, then thou knowest water begets water; it will be a watery grave your rug, drowned in the weeping brook. Pray remember, Lebowski.

 

THE KNAVE

Thou err’st; no man calls me Lebowski. Yet thou art man; neither spirit damned nor wandering shadow, thou art solid flesh, man of woman born. Hear rightly, man!—for thou hast got the wrong man. I am the Knave, man; Knave in nature as in name.

 

BLANCHE

Thy name is Lebowski. Thy wife is Bonnie.

 

THE KNAVE

Zounds, man. Look at these unworthiest hands; no gaudy gold profanes my little hand. I have no honour to contain the ring. I am a bachelor in a wilderness. Behold this place; are these the towers where one may glimpse Geoffrey, the married man? Is this a court where mistresses of common sense are hid? Not for me to hang my bugle in an invisible baldric, sir; I am loath to take a wife, or she to take me until men be made of some other mettle than earth. Hark, the seat of my commode be arisen!

 

WOO

Search his satchel! His words are a fantastical banquet to work confusion upon his enemies. There sits eight pounds of proof within; surely he hides his treasure on his person.

 

BLANCHE

Villainy! Why this confounded orb, such as men use to play at ninepins; what devilry, these holes in holy trinity?

 

THE KNAVE

Obviously thou art not a golfer.

 

BLANCHE

Then thou art a man to carry ball in his sack? Thou varlet, a plague upon your house; I shall return thy orb to earth.

[He drops the ball]

Thy floor cracks in haste, sir; thou art not a man of ample foundation. Woo?

 

WOO

Speak, friend; I am but of droplets.

 

BLANCHE

Was this not a man of moneys and repute? Did not Treehorn speak of chalcedony halls, and three chests of gold, as was hard food for Midas? What think’st thou?

 

WOO

O undistinguish’d man! We are deceived; this man has put not money in his purse.

 

THE KNAVE

Weep not for grief of my own sustaining, sir. At least I am house-broken, none to break the houses of others.

 

WOO

If dog you are, in time you’ll have your day;

Waste time, but Jaques Treehorn will you pay.

 

[Exeunt severally]

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1.2

[The bowling green. Enter THE KNAVE, WALTER and DONALD, to play at ninepins]

 

WALTER

In sooth, then, faithful friend, this was a rug of value? Thou wouldst call it not a rug among ordinary rugs, but a rug of purpose? A star in a firmament, in step with the fashion alike to the Whitsun morris-dance? A worthy rug, a rug of consequence, sir?

 

THE KNAVE

It was of consequence, I should think; verily, it tied the room together, gather’d its qualities as the sweet lovers’ spring grass doth the morning dew or the rough scythe the first of autumn harvests. It sat between the four sides of the room, making substance of a square, respecting each wall in equal harmony, in geometer’s cap; a great reckoning in a little room. Verily, it transform’d the room from the space between four walls presented, to the harbour of a man’s monarchy.

 

WALTER

Indeed, a rug of value; an estimable rug, an honour’d rug; O unhappy rug, that should live to cover such days!

 

DONALD

Of what dost thou speak, that tied the room together, Knave? Take pains, for I would well hear of that which tied the room together.

 

WALTER

Didst thou attend the Knave’s tragic history, Sir Donald?

 

DONALD

Nay, good Sir Walter, I was a-bowling.

 

WALTER

Thou attend’st not; and so thou hast no frame of reference. Thou art as a child, wandering and strutting amidst the groundlings as a play is in session, heeding not the poor players, their exits and their entrances, and, wanting to know the subject of the story, asking which is the lover and which the tyrant.

 

THE KNAVE

Come to the point, Sir Walter.

 

WALTER

My point, then, Knave; there be no reason, if sweet reason doth permit, in enlightenment’s bower—and reason says thou art the worthier man—

 

DONALD

Yes, Sir Walter, pray, merrily state the fulcrum of thy argument.

 

THE KNAVE

My colleague, although unfram’d and unreferenc’d, speaks plain and true. That these toughs are those at fault, we are agreed; that I stand wounded, unrevenged, we likewise are agreed; yet you circle the meanings unconstantly, like blunted burrs, unstuck where they are thrown.

 

WALTER

I speak of aggression uncheck’d, as crowned heads of state once spoke of Arabia—

 

DONALD

Arabia! Then we have put a girdle round the earth. Of what does Sir Walter speak?

 

WALTER

Cast it from thy sievelike books of memory, Sir Donald; thou art out of thy element.

 

DONALD

Mine element?

 

WALTER

Wherefore was I curs’d only to minister

To congregations held in deafen’d pits?

I must hobble my speech; of elements, sir,

A doctor of physic did once explain

That all the earth is province elemental,

Sure and steady as the stone-wall foursome

A-holding up the Knave’s roof, tied together

By power that we spake on, our traffic

Unmarred by thy rough and idle chatter.

And the complexion of the element

In favour’s like the rug that ties the room.

O, a muse of fire the first element,

Airy breath the second; though this wind

May well be yours for all you flap your tongue,

O ill-dispersing wind of misery!

Thou hast no wings, and, liable to plunge,

You fit not fowl; yet foul your interruption,

Fished for facts, yet fish you cannot be;

So water, elemental third, you’re not,

How much salt water thrown away in waste.

Of earth, no woman left on earth will have thee,

No man of middle earth will tend thy land,

So walk the plains like to a lonely dragon;

I care not.

 

THE KNAVE

Good sir, speak plain. I know not these villains, surely would I ne’er traffic with this man of Orient birth who so abused my rug. I have not the facility to present him with the rate of usance and demand money in kind for that which he has spent upon’t; so I entreat you, speak plain.

 

WALTER

I speak the truth; my words are straight and true.

The man of Orient birth is not the issue.

 

DONALD

The Orient, Sir Walter?

 

WALTER

I speak, old friend, of truths in desert land.

The hour is nigh to draw line in the sand.

 

THE KNAVE

Deserts? I had made it plain that he was Orient-man.

 

WALTER

Though words in haste be only human nature,

‘Orient-man’ is not preferr’d nomenclature.

 

THE KNAVE

Give me no further counsel; my griefs cry softer than advertisement.

 

WALTER

I speak of this other man, Sir Geoffrey of Lebowski. Is not thy name, sir, Geoffrey of Lebowski? To be or not Lebowski, that is the question; I see we still did meet each other’s man. Shall we not make amends? A gentleman of high sentence ought to be of unsequestered location, possessed of resources fit to restore a thousand rugs from vile offence. He’s not well married that lets his wife a borrower be, such that men gravely offended bespoil another man’s rug. Be I wrong?

 

THE KNAVE

No, but verily—

 

WALTER

Be I wrong?

 

THE KNAVE

Yea, but verily—

 

WALTER

That rug, in faith, tied the room together, did it not?

 

THE KNAVE

By my heart, a goodly rug.

 

DONALD

And in most miserable tide did this rogue besmirch it.

 

WALTER

Prithee, Donald! Thou too eagerly hold’st the mirror up to nature.

 

THE KNAVE

My mind races; I might endeavour to seek this gentleman Lebowski.

 

DONALD

His name is Lebowski? Verily, ope thine ear; that is thy name, Knave!

 

THE KNAVE

On good authority; and his nobleness must oblige. His wife taketh up quarrel and borrows, and they bespoil my rug.

 

WALTER

Marry, sir, my heartstrings do you tug;

They urinate upon thy damnèd rug.

 

[Exeunt severally]

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1.4

[Outside LEBOWSKI’s castle. Enter THE KNAVE (with a Persian rug) and BRANDT]

 

BRANDT

I pray you, Knave, remember us in future visitations.

 

THE KNAVE

Faith, surely when next I travel in this neighbourhood, I will call upon his lordship’s good honour, and beseech his refreshment.

 

[Enter BONNIE LEBOWSKI and OLIVER]

 

BONNIE

[sings]

“With toe-nails of verdant and forester’s green

With a hey-nonny-no and a hey-nonny-nonny

Blow thrice on my toe-nails and I’ll be thy queen

And ever preserve me as thine, blithe and Bonnie.”

[to THE KNAVE]

I pray you, sir, blow.

 

THE KNAVE

Marry! But here’s a lady of good interest, whose toe-nails are the very green of the common hump, where grass doth grow and where country lovers do foot. Whither shall I blow, maid? For I am but a traveling tumbleweed, and may well be carried by any wind, e’en south.

 

BONNIE

I mean only the wind in thine own maw in this case; blow, then, serve your turn and cool my hot temper.

 

THE KNAVE

Sayst thou that I must blow upon thy foot, painted lady?

 

BONNIE

I ask this deed of you thrice now; and that which a damsel craves constantly is the service of a tongue most moved in capability. Look to my foot; I cannot reach that far. Blow, wind!

 

THE KNAVE

I fear thy charms. Will not thy consort mind

If I bestow his lady fair my wind?

 

BONNIE

Nay, there’s naught for which Oliver carest;

He mindeth not, for he’s a nihilist.

 

BRANDT

Our court’s noble guest must not tarry, Lady Lebowski.

 

THE KNAVE

Lady Lebowski? Then thou art Bonnie? A merry wife indeed!

 

BONNIE

And a lady of good housekeeping and agriculture besides, minded to economy and all practicalities. Were thou to bring a gentle cock to mine bed-chamber, I might help him to success for ten shillings.

 

THE KNAVE

Such a lady of talents I have scarcely seen.

 

BRANDT

Yes, a most forthright jest! Free of spirit and good generosity, she is the nimble nymph of Neptune, and we mark her with good humour.

 

BONNIE

Free of spirit but ne’er free for flesh. Were I to regale thee with parts of my humour, I would not bid Brandt hear the play ere he paid a shilling himself.

 

BRANDT

Hark, a marvelous jest; but, I pray you, we dare not tarry. Come, Knave.

 

THE KNAVE

Yea, I shall come, and then return with money,

Or lose the labour’d love of fair Bonnie.

 

[Exeunt]

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shit makes me feel like im in school reading it.

 

howd you turn The Big Lebowski into school?!

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reminds me of this:

 

 

J: My pardon; did I break thy concentration?

Continue! Ah, but now thy tongue is still.

Allow me then to offer a response.

Describe Marsellus Wallace to me, pray.

B: What?

J: What country dost thou hail from?

B: What?

J: How passing strange, for I have traveled far,

And never have I heard tell of this What.

What language speak they in the land of What?

B: What?

J: The Queen's own English, base knave, dost thou speak it?

B: Aye!

J: Then hearken to my words and answer them!

Describe to me Marsellus Wallace!

B: What?

JULES presses his knife to BRETT's throat

J: Speak 'What' again! Thou cur, cry 'What' again!

I dare thee utter 'What' again but once!

I dare thee twice and spit upon thy name!

Now, paint for me a portraiture in words,

If thou hast any in thy head but 'What',

Of Marsellus Wallace!

B: He is dark.

J: Aye, and what more?

B: His head is shaven bald.

J: Has he the semblance of a harlot?

B: What?

JULES strikes and BRETT cries out

J: Has he the semblance of a harlot?

B: Nay!

J: Then why didst thou attempt to bed him thus?

B: I did not!

J: Aye, thou didst! O, aye, thou didst!

Thou hoped to rape him like a chattel whore,

And sooth, Lord Wallace is displeased to bed

With anyone but she to whom he wed.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6csp2fZt2E

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Im not going to lie i havent read the whole thing.

The idea is clever, and the wording is pretty good.

 

This is for the people who read the book of revelations as a literary work of mad genius.

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Prime example of what happens when you find a stranger in the alps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GAY ALPS THREADS!

 

fixed;)

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I think it's funny, but no way I'm going to read it like that.

Took me like 5 minutes to find the part "No man misdeals with Joshua Quince."

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