I’ve heard the internet rumors that this had been done, but I finally found it! ( i’m geeking out!)
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!
[THE KNAVE’s house. Enter THE KNAVE, carrying parcels, and two THUGS. They fight]
Whither the money, Lebowski? Faith, we are servants of Bonnie; promised by the lady good that thou in turn were good for’t.
Bound in honour, we must have our bond; cursed be our tribe if we forgive thee.
Let us soak him in the commode, so as to turn his head.
Aye, and see what vapourises; then he will see what is foul.
[They insert his head into the commode]
What dreadful noise of waters in thine ears! Thou hast cooled thine head; think now upon drier matters.
Speak now on ducats else again we’ll thee duckest; whither the money, Lebowski?
Faith, it awaits down there someplace; prithee let me glimpse again.
What, thou rash egg! Thus will we drown thine exclamations.
[They again insert his head into the commode]
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.
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]
Sir, prithee nay!
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.
To thoroughly enjoy the whole epic masterpiece, please CLICK HERE . If you haven’t seen this movie yet, and thus can not appreciate the beauty of this post, stop what you are doing and re-arrange your priorities ASAP.