Messing About With Words
This piece of Elizabethan theatre snark revolves around a particular fantasy of mine. Please send me a request if there’s a favourite scene from a movie you would like to see snarked in iambics. Use the Farce!
Or, The Death of Jar Jar Binks
LADY MacDOWALL, FIRST SWORD OF GALLOWAY, STANDS BEFORE THE PORTCULLIS OF CASTLE LUCAS. DRESSED IN TIGHT LEATHER TROUSERS AND A MAN’S DOUBLET, WITH KNEE-HIGH BUSKINS, SHE HOLDS A DRAWN RAPIER IN HER HAND.
I call ye, darkest aspects of the Force
And take my mirth for gall. I come unto
The dwelling place of George, Lord Lucas, now
to take him to a place of reckoning.
I come to slay the Beast that sheltereth
Here in this dark and gloomy Lucas Fort.
One Jar-Jar Binks, that bastard cur most foul,
hath in his time such dreadful anguish caus’d!
I’ll bid him drag before my mettl’d blade
That Binks! He the exaulted stage hath marr’d
With foppery to curdle mother’s milk.
O Comedy! Sweet Muse! O how she wept!
Forsooth, that Jar-Jar must his Makers meet,
his foppish foolish voice doth grate mine ears
with cantish whines meesa meesa! In some
desp’rate folly, George, Lord Lucas losing
ev’ry sense of timing — comic, tragic
or merely goodly sense of stories told—
hath foisted on us this monstrosity!
Death, say I! That foul and dev’lish Binks
Defiler nam’d! That ruiner of fun!
Shall meet his hell-judged end, ere day is done!
Hark! He comes!
[Enter Lord Lucas].
How now, my lady? How may I aid thee?
My Lord, know you I am come to charge you
Bring out that player that doth mar the stage
That I may put these gentle people out
Of miseries unnumber’d and unnam’d.
I would put end to this calamity
Before thy play, nam’d War of the Heavens,
Cometh upon boards of Stratford. Speak!
Doth that player rest here within your walls?
Must this be cause of war between us, Sir?
Fair Master Binks doth well reside within
His mirthful bones berattl’d at this sight —
Of Galloway’s Dark Lady, steel in hand
And dress’d in raiment masculine. Meseems
It is not meet that you berate me so
For know you that my Master Binks, in truth
A Player is, among our company,
More priz’d than Hayden Christiansen he is,
Whose talent Master Jar Jar doth exceed!
I’faith, Lord Lucas, such accomplishment
would not be difficult to so attain!
You meet me here, my lady, and would come
Unto my house with rapier so drawn
To slay my player priz’d?
Milord, I would!
And know my cause to be a just one, Sir.
For surely you have cast them all so ill.
Aye! Even so! Lord Lucas, you should know
The plot is inconsistent with the first
Triad of plays the populace so lov’d.
Alarums sound, milady, at thy terms,
For gentle maid — nay, start not at my words —
My sweet and pious lady surely knoweth
The text and seeming shall be alteréd
So Continuity, goddess, raineth!
You mean to CHANGE thy plays?
Aye, even so!
O woe is me! En garde, my lord, for none
Who love the first three can attest unto
The merit of this newest triad, Sir!
LORD LUCAS: Mean you to insult, my lady MacDowall?
I do! Were a man, I’d call thee out!
[Lord Lucas draws his sword.]
And if I were a man, I would accept!
’Tis clear, sirrah, the reason for thy ire
though I would hazard educated guess —
I’d see this Jar-Jar’s mounted head bestuff’d
upon the wall of fierce and proud MacDowall.
Binks hath no player’s gifts nor has the Muse
Thalia bestowed her inspiration:
perchance I see all now, the only way.
Binks hath thy patronage.’Tis meet and right,
Jar-Jar must surely be thy catamite!
Thou’lt pay for that, thou saucy sharp-tongu’d wench!
Thou knowest Binks and I are merely friends!
[They further fight]
© LJ McDowall 2015.