The king, Duncan, and his company meet with a bleeding soldier who reports, between spurts of gushing blood, the progress of the battle, at least up to the point that he can remember before he got nailed with a blunt instrument.
the one bleeding all over the place?
Let's ask him for a recap, the score, and what lowlife broke his face.
Malcolm. Ah, he is the sergeant that saved my life today;
because of him I'm not an M I A.
Yo! You with the blood and guts hangin' out --
tell us what's the story: a close one or a rout.
Soldier. In the beginnin', (gasp) it was hard to tell
who was winnin' (war is hell),
like two swimmers doin' their thing
[or like two boxers in a ring]
clingin' to each other 'til they damned near drowned.
Anyway, Macdonwald, a really BAD dude, ya know, the PITS,
I mean he is just NATURALLY mean, somethin' in his genes, ya know,
and he gets all his rotten friends from Ireland to help him win
'til great Macbeth emerged like a madman out of nowhere
not carin' who, what, where, or why, or when
he flung his mighty sword, and then (cough, cough, gulp, splat),
he faced Macdonwald. That was THAT.
He slashed and hacked away all day;
blood here, blood there, blood everywhere,
all his, Macdonwald's, sliced, drawn and quartered,
split from groin to hips and lips (I heard)
without so much as" Hi," or "Bye," (hey, I'm on a roll);
he left his head stuck on a pole.
Duncan. That's my man, related to me, you know. What a guy!
Soldier. Wait! That ain't all. There's more.
You wanna know the final score?
[It was like a nightmare
and definitely unfair.]
Listen, man -- er, Sir, -- your honor -- Lord,
like the calm after a storm,
then comes another swarm, a horde
from Norway, seein' opportunity knock just once,
they came attackin' us, the little runts.
Duncan. Did that bother Macbeth and Banquo at all?
Soldier. Did it ever. They went berserk!
They were as concerned as little critters
which fear far bigger ones, ya know,
like little birds are scared of big ones;
like the rabbit that don't want to be eaten by the lion.
Oh, yeah, they were tough as nails,
like double-barreled cannons blasting away.
For every shot they got, they gave two, I say,
TWO, or more; and they just wouldn' quit
for nothin' or nobody 'til death do they depart
to the end right from the start, like do or die,
'til the cavalry comes to Calvary
or someplace I once heard of like that --
it's hard to say -- I dunno why. (Gasp, splat.)
But, can we take a break from this interview
to stop the bleedin' I got from the fray
and not arrive at home like some poor D O A?
Duncan. Oh, yeah, sure. Your words bring honor to you
as much as your blood and guts do, too.
Somebody find a medic for him.
[The soldier leaves with help just in time.]
Now, son, who's THAT coming here. You seem to know everybody.
Malcolm. The thane of Ross. You know, ROSS. R-O-S-S! He works for you.
And Lennox. He works for, or with, Ross. I don't really know for sure.
Lennox. [From afar.] Now here's a guy with weird looks in his eyes.
Only a nut case would look like that.
[Ross and Lennox appear.]
Ross. God save the King.
Duncan. Thanks anyway, but I'm okay. Where are you coming from?
Ross. From Fife [or maybe six miles from here],
where Norwegian flags fly high in the sky (no lie)
with the help of the Thane of Cawdor,
a thane who worked for you once,
who became a traitor.
Then, Macbeth appeared and saved the day
and many a knight, so to speak, and,
to make an epic tale real short, we won.
Duncan. Good. What else?
Ross. It seems that Sweno, the Norwegian king, wants to write something
because he said he "craves composition;"
we wouldn't let him do it, or bury his dead soldiers,
until he gave us some little island or something just as valuable
plus ten thousand dollars in fines for our trouble.
Duncan. You say it was my thane of Cawdor who was the traitor? Then he shall die.
Macbeth is thane of Glamis. He can be thane of Cawdor, too. Good bye.
Ross. Right. Anything else you want done?
Duncan. Yeah. Tell Macbeth what Cawdor lost, he won.
[Everybody leaves.]
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 911 times
Written on 2007-01-20 at 20:49
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Macbeth, Act I, sc. ii On the Death of Cawdor
Duncan. Son, who is that soldier over there,the one bleeding all over the place?
Let's ask him for a recap, the score, and what lowlife broke his face.
Malcolm. Ah, he is the sergeant that saved my life today;
because of him I'm not an M I A.
Yo! You with the blood and guts hangin' out --
tell us what's the story: a close one or a rout.
Soldier. In the beginnin', (gasp) it was hard to tell
who was winnin' (war is hell),
like two swimmers doin' their thing
[or like two boxers in a ring]
clingin' to each other 'til they damned near drowned.
Anyway, Macdonwald, a really BAD dude, ya know, the PITS,
I mean he is just NATURALLY mean, somethin' in his genes, ya know,
and he gets all his rotten friends from Ireland to help him win
'til great Macbeth emerged like a madman out of nowhere
not carin' who, what, where, or why, or when
he flung his mighty sword, and then (cough, cough, gulp, splat),
he faced Macdonwald. That was THAT.
He slashed and hacked away all day;
blood here, blood there, blood everywhere,
all his, Macdonwald's, sliced, drawn and quartered,
split from groin to hips and lips (I heard)
without so much as" Hi," or "Bye," (hey, I'm on a roll);
he left his head stuck on a pole.
Duncan. That's my man, related to me, you know. What a guy!
Soldier. Wait! That ain't all. There's more.
You wanna know the final score?
[It was like a nightmare
and definitely unfair.]
Listen, man -- er, Sir, -- your honor -- Lord,
like the calm after a storm,
then comes another swarm, a horde
from Norway, seein' opportunity knock just once,
they came attackin' us, the little runts.
Duncan. Did that bother Macbeth and Banquo at all?
Soldier. Did it ever. They went berserk!
They were as concerned as little critters
which fear far bigger ones, ya know,
like little birds are scared of big ones;
like the rabbit that don't want to be eaten by the lion.
Oh, yeah, they were tough as nails,
like double-barreled cannons blasting away.
For every shot they got, they gave two, I say,
TWO, or more; and they just wouldn' quit
for nothin' or nobody 'til death do they depart
to the end right from the start, like do or die,
'til the cavalry comes to Calvary
or someplace I once heard of like that --
it's hard to say -- I dunno why. (Gasp, splat.)
But, can we take a break from this interview
to stop the bleedin' I got from the fray
and not arrive at home like some poor D O A?
Duncan. Oh, yeah, sure. Your words bring honor to you
as much as your blood and guts do, too.
Somebody find a medic for him.
[The soldier leaves with help just in time.]
Now, son, who's THAT coming here. You seem to know everybody.
Malcolm. The thane of Ross. You know, ROSS. R-O-S-S! He works for you.
And Lennox. He works for, or with, Ross. I don't really know for sure.
Lennox. [From afar.] Now here's a guy with weird looks in his eyes.
Only a nut case would look like that.
[Ross and Lennox appear.]
Ross. God save the King.
Duncan. Thanks anyway, but I'm okay. Where are you coming from?
Ross. From Fife [or maybe six miles from here],
where Norwegian flags fly high in the sky (no lie)
with the help of the Thane of Cawdor,
a thane who worked for you once,
who became a traitor.
Then, Macbeth appeared and saved the day
and many a knight, so to speak, and,
to make an epic tale real short, we won.
Duncan. Good. What else?
Ross. It seems that Sweno, the Norwegian king, wants to write something
because he said he "craves composition;"
we wouldn't let him do it, or bury his dead soldiers,
until he gave us some little island or something just as valuable
plus ten thousand dollars in fines for our trouble.
Duncan. You say it was my thane of Cawdor who was the traitor? Then he shall die.
Macbeth is thane of Glamis. He can be thane of Cawdor, too. Good bye.
Ross. Right. Anything else you want done?
Duncan. Yeah. Tell Macbeth what Cawdor lost, he won.
[Everybody leaves.]
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 911 times
Written on 2007-01-20 at 20:49
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text