I’ve got to share this thing. What if William Shakespeare wrote The Big Lebowski? It’s killing me. Here’s the bit where Walter comes up with their strategy to get compensated for the rug. ‘The Dude’ here is ‘The Knave.’
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.
The whole thing is priceless.
