Ian Doescher - William Shakespeare's The Empire Striketh Back

[ To Lando: ] Behold, a Star Destroyer doth approach.

Make ready, Chewie, for the lightspeed jump.

Aye, if thy people fix’d the hyperdrive,
Coordinates are set—’tis time we flew.

Now make it so!

—Auugh!

—I was told ’twas fix’d!
My trust I gave them, to repair the ship.
Some treachery and villainy lie here.
Forgive me, I know not what hath transpir’d.
’Tis not my fault. In troth, ’tis not my fault!

The ship shall be in tractor beaming range
Before thou canst say “aye.”

—Thy trusty men
Disab’d the swift Falcon ’s hyperdrive?

They did, my Lord.

—’Tis well. Prepare to board
Their ship, and set all weapons onto stun.
They have not made escape for long, and soon
Skywalker shall be in my hand again,
And I shall bring him to the Emperor.

Indeed, my Lord, I shall with joy comply.
The rebels shall be in our grasp anon.

Why have we not to lightspeed flown?

—Beep, squeak!

What dost thou mean that we cannot? How canst
Thou know the hyperdrive disabl’d is?

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

The city’s central processor hath told
Thee so? O, R2-D2, how have I
Oft warnèd thee of talking to a strange
Computer? Now, attend to my repair!

[ to Luke: ] Luke, well I know that thou canst sense my call.

My father! Word most strange upon my lips.

My son.

—O Ben, why didst thou tell me not?

Chewbacca, we must fly or we shall be
Destroy’d!

—It is Darth Vader on that ship.
We are in danger here. When shall we fly?

Luke, come with me, fulfill thy destiny!

[ aside: ] O Ben, I ask, why didst thou tell me not?
What anguish and disorder fill my mind!

[ aside: ] It falls to me again to win the day,
And rescue the Rebellion from dire loss.
I shall reactivate the hyperdrive,
Thus we shall fly, to fight another time!

O clever droid, great R2, rescuer!

Fie, fie! Yet once again the ship escapes.
I shall devise brave punishments for those
Who put upon our state this grievous blight.
Then shall I seek my son, the Jedi Knight.

The medic droid hath fix’d my hand with care,
Though never shall it fully be repair’d.
For though I can this hand use as before,
It shall ne’er truly be a hand of mine.
For now I am machine, though partly so,
Now have I ta’en a step toward the man
Who saith he is my father, yet is wires
And bolts. O hand, I find thee yet so dear.
Pray, serve me well, and prick my memory
That I did once the dark side briefly know—
And fac’d, and fought, and ultimately fail’d.
Then rise once more with me, my true right hand—
Thy rightful place thou shalt take at my side
To right the wrongs that we have sufferèd,
And right now thou and I begin to work
T’ward righteousness in great rebellion’s cause.

Now Lando, shalt thou go?

—Aye, Luke, for all
Hath been prepar’d. When we find Jabba and
The bounty hunter, we shall tell thee all.

I’ll meet thee where we plann’d—on Tatooine—
My homeland that is now estrang’d from me.

Good princess, now farewell. Apologies
Most earnest I convey again, and with
Them come a vow: we shall find Han, I swear.

Dear Chewie, I’ll await thy signal.

—Auugh!

Now take thou care—the Force be with ye both.

Now ends this troubl’d time of Empire’s rise,
Our time of harsh betrayal, painful loss.
Now have we learn’d what friendship truly costs,
And in the learning lost a comrade strong.

Along the way, our hearts were movèd much:
By sacred love, most wondrous to behold,
By bravery that shall outlive the times,
By sacrifice of our most precious friends.

Encounters unexpected we did meet
With masters wise and persons unforeseen.
These are the star wars, yet they are not done—
For sure, the final chapter’s just begun.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings,
No shine of starry light or planet’s glow.
For though our heroes ’scape the Empire’s slings,
The great rebellion ne’er has been so low.
Brave Han is for the Empire’s gain betray’d,
Which doth leave Princess Leia’s heart full sore.
Young Luke hath had his hand repair’d, remade—
The man is whole, but shaken to the core.
Forgive us, gentles, for this brutal play,
This tale of sorrow, strife, and deepest woes.
Ye must leave empty, sighing lack-a-day,
Till we, by George, a brighter play compose.
Our story endeth, though your hearts do burn,
And shall until the Jedi doth return.