Ian Doescher - William Shakespeare's The Empire Striketh Back

[ aside: ]—Alack,
How like a death knell sounds this news to me!

I tell thee truly when I say to thee:
This news doth break this gen’ral’s gentle soul.
I could not be more sorry, pilot brave.

A price still lies upon my head, and if
I do not make amends with Jabba, I
Shall not repay with money, nay, but life.

A price too dear, indeed! A death mark is
No kind companion to a free man’s life.
Thou art a warrior noble, Solo, and
I hate to lose thee.

—And thou art a kind,
Good general, sirrah, I hate to go.

And so, Your Highness great, this is the end.

’Tis so.

—I prithee mourn me not, and show
No sentiment. Farewell, thou princess cold.
[ Aside: ] I go, and hope she’ll follow hard upon,
For if she shall not follow, all is lost.

Han, halt!

—What is thy pleasure, Highness?

I did believe that thou had chos’n to stay.

The bounty hunter we did meet on Ord
Mantell hath chang’d my mind.

—We need thee, Han.

What “we”? Why speakest thou of “we”?
Dost thou in royal terms speak here of “we”?
Hast thou a rodent in thy pocket, such
That thou and he are “we”? What meanest thou?
What need is there that thou dost share with all?
Speak not of “we,” but “I.” O princess, what
Dost thou most need? Not “we,” not “they,” but thou?

I know not what thou speakest of.

—’Tis true.
Most probably thou dost not know thyself.

And what, pray tell, precisely should I know?
Of what great myst’ry am I unaware?
Hast thou the depths of Leia plumb’d and seen
What lies within my soul, my very core?

Be not elusive, nay! Thou wouldst that I
Should stay because of how thou feelest in
Thy heart about me. Need hath turn’d to want.
Pray, tell me not thy needs, but thy desires.

Thou art a leader full of skill, ’tis true.

Thine answer leadeth thee astray. Let fly!
I see it in thine aspect now, let fly!
Tell me the answer true.

—Thy vanity
Hath puff’d up thine imagination.

—Aye?
Then why dost thou yet follow me? Wert thou
Afraid I would depart without a kiss?

I would as eagerly kiss Wookiee lips.

That can arrangèd be. By heaven’s breath,
A kiss would suit thee well!

—O man of bile!
Thou wouldst make e’en the coolest temper burn,
For thou art made of heat and flame and fire.
No wood may stand within a mile of thee
But it shall roast as if ’twere on the sun.
And now, thy scorching manner lights my fuse.
Aye truly, I confess I am aflame:
Thine eyes create combustion in my heart,
Thy face doth cause my cheeks to flood with warmth,
Thy fingers set me trembling at their touch,
Thy hands may hold the secrets of my soul.
Thou hast a pow’r o’er Leia’s very self,
Yet wear my patience past what I can bear.
For O, how thou dost needle, jest, and prick
When thou dost think thy pride is at the stake.
Be not so full of bile, my noble Han.
I prithee, choose the tender side of wit.
If thou couldst ever put thy pride away,
Belike my prejudice would fall aside.
Then could our two hearts sing a melody,
Instead of clashing in disharmony.

O R2, thou dost ever plague me so!
E’en now have we been in dishonor sent
Away from our good princess’ chamber. Fie!
Such breach of etiquette and protocol,
And all the fault doth on thy shoulders lie.

Beep, meep, beep, whistle, meep, beep, squeak, nee, meep!

Lay not thy blame upon my shoulders, droid—
I did, at no point, ask thee to engage
The thermal heater. ’Twas but a remark
Upon the coldness of the princess’ room.

Beep, whistle, squeak.

—But freezing it should be!
And now, how shall we dry off all her clothes?
I truly know not how.

—Beep, meep, beep, hoo.

O, switch off!

[ aside: ]—Watch thy tongue, thou naughty droid,
Or I shall bring my wit to bear on thee
And thou shalt not escape my shocks and jabs.
For though I speak aloud in beeps and squeaks,
Within my mind a keener tongue prevails.
And though thou like a brother art to me,
I’ll happily correct your errant ways.
If thou didst think the thermal heater was
Too hot, then shalt thou surely not endure
The fire that I shall kindle with my wit.

[ to Chewbacca: ] Why hast thou taken this apart when
I am striving to depart this wretched place?

Excuse me, Sir.

—Pray, mend the ship, and swift!

Please, Sir, a word with thee.

—What dost thou want?

’Tis Princess Leia, Sir, she strives to reach
Thee on th’communicator.

—Then ’twas wise
That I did turn it off, for I have no
Desire to speak with her.

—I see. But she
Hath after Master Luke made inquiry,
For surely he hath not return’d unto
The base. She knows not where he is.

—In that
Her mind and mine are one. I know not where
He is.