Description
What if…William Shakespeare had written The Big Lebowski?
The Dude has met the Bard—and he doth abide.
Join “The Knave” and Sir Walter on a wild tale of mistaken identity, kidnapping, bowling, and a rug that, in faith, really tied the room together—in a sidesplitting Shakespearean comedy of errors and ninepins, told in five glorious acts of iambic pentameter and impeccable period prose.
Already a theatrical hit and a worldwide viral phenomenon, Two Gentlemen of Lebowski comes alive anew in this definitive and lavishly illustrated edition, featuring recently discovered historical engravings, scholarly annotations, and a revelatory afterword from the author.
—Scott Shuffitt, cofounding Dude of LebowskiFest and coauthor of I’m a Lebowski, You’re a Lebowski
“A blast to read.”
—GQ
“Oh my God . . . This is so good.”
—The New Republic
“Classic lines and scenes now become even more epic.”
—USA Today
“Gadzooks, methinks ’tis all as fine a way to waste an hour or so as I have come across in these four seasons.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“The mash-up that toke its time in coming.”
—Time Out New York
“Proves that Shakespearean sharp-tongued eloquence is nifty even in the 21st century, if wielded correctly. The play also proved that [The Big Lebowski] was quite Shakespearean to begin with.”
—Inside New York
“It’s wonderful.”
—Metro (UK)
“Should be quite the what-have-you.”
—Gothamist
“Arguably one of the most inventive pieces ever created.”
—Broadway World
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Act 1, Scene 1
THE KNAVE’s house. Enter THE KNAVE, carrying parcels, and BLANCHE and WOO. They fight.
BLANCHE
Whither the money, Lebowski? Faith, we are as servants to 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 chamber-pot, 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 chamber-pot.
BLANCHE
What dreadful noise of waters in thine ears! Thou hast cool’d thy 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 chamber-pot.
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; to deadbeats ever thus.
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, drown’d in the weeping brook. Pray remember, Lebowski.
THE KNAVE
Thou err’st; no man calls me Lebowski. 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 lid of my chamber-pot be lifted!
WOO
Search his satchel! His words are a fantastical banquet to work pell-mell havoc and confusion upon his enemies. There sits eight pounds of proof within.
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 colfer.
BLANCHE
Then thou art a man to carry ball in his sack? Thou varlet, a plague upon your house; I return thine 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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