Welcome to my parody of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Be advised that I may not follow the play to its exact specifications and this is just me having fun. If you want to take it seriously, please read the actual play. Now, without further ado, let’s start!
SCENE I = A Desert Place
<Dark clouds blanket the land in an impenetrable veil of black and grey. Thunder rolls along, followed by the quick flashing of lightening. We see three hunched figures, shrouded in patchwork robes. They pull their hoods down to reveal themselves to be old women. Witches, most likely.>
<First Witch looks chipper for her age, rubbing her hands excitably like a child. She tugs at Sophia’s sleeve>
First Witch: Ooo! When shall we meet again, sisters? When?
<Second Witch, calm, cool, with stern blue eyes looks down upon her.>
Second Witch: After the battle, dear. After the battle.
Third Witch: <glancing at the setting sun> Should be nearly over, don’t you think?
Second Witch: Perhaps.
First Witch: Where is it? Where?
Second Witch: At the heath, down yonder.
Third Witch: Macbeth will be there, hopefully-
<Suddenly, First Witch bounds forward from the group, after a shadow she had seen in the bushes, a small black shadow.>
First Witch: GRAYMALKIN! I’m coming to get you!
<Second and Third Witch look at their poor sister with pity. They exchange nervous glances at each other. After poor Graymalkin seemingly fell into their cauldron without a trace of a body, they couldn’t bear to tell her that he was gone. They kept fooling her with the story that he had gone mice hunting, and would eventually come back.>
Third Witch: We can’t hold it from her forever, you know.
Second Witch: Shut it! It’ll break her heart if we do.
<First Witch returns to them with a sad face.>
First Witch: I couldn’t find Graymalkin there.
Second Witch: <smiling> I-I’m sure he’ll show up somewhere. But for now, we’ve got business to attend to.
<They gather around in a tight circle again.>
First, Second, and Third Witch: Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air.
Me: Hey there, folks! You may be wondering why this parody is a bit more serious than the Julius Caesar one. That’s because I want to try and see if I can mix in both comedy and seriousness in one. Preferably subtle comedy, but we’ll see. Will I appear here? Sssh! Spoilers!!
SCENE II = A Camp near Forres
<The scene opens up inside a medical tent. A poor soldier lies on a wooden table with an arrow in his knee and a few sword wounds here and there. As he moans about hope that he won’t be reassigned to guard duty, we see King Duncan with his princes Malcolm and Donalbain approach him. The king grimaces in disgust.>
King Duncan: Who the hell is this guy?
Malcolm: <Stares at his father> This is the man who saved me from captivity, father!
<He walks up to the poor man, and for a moment, the man’s anguish seem to leave his face as he recognizes the prince. Malcolm puts a gentle hand on the man’s sweaty, grimy face and smiles comfortingly. After all, what’s a king to his men if he cannot treat them as his brothers? What is a king to his men, if he does not love them like his own sons? Malcolm takes a cup of water and gently, oh so gently pours it into the man’s dry mouth. A surgeon approaches to work on the injured man.>
Malcolm: It’s okay, sergeant. Speak as much as you’re able.
Sergeant: <breathes> A-aye, sire. Well…to make a long story short…Macdonwald is dead! The ruddy bastard is dead! <grimaces. Malcolm grips his hand tightly> Ma-Macbeth killed him!
Malcolm: He will receive a hero’s reward for this.
King Duncan: <blurts> Keep talking! Explain the battle step by step! I want to know how exactly Macbeth killed Macdonwald.
King Duncan: HOW!?
Malcolm: Father, with all due respect, this man is in agony. He’s not fit to speak anymore.
<As if to emphasize this, the sergeant lets out an anguish yell as the surgeon pulls the arrow from his knee.>
King Duncan: You will be posted as a city guard for this.
Sergeant: <horrified> B-but…sire!
King Duncan: Enough of this!
<He storms off for a bit, then is accosted by Ross.>
Ross: Sire! The King of Norway wants to bury his men, but I’d thought we’d be dicks and demand payment in the form of ten thousand dollars for our usage before he gets to bury them. How does that sound?
King Duncan: <smiles> I’ve taught you well, young man. Yes, those Norwegian dead can rot in the fields until the king give us our just dues. If he doesn’t have the payment, he doesn’t get to bury his men and they’ll just be fertilizer.
Malcolm: Father, this is an outrage! Those poor men shed their blood for us, and this is how we repay them? At the very least we should-
King Duncan: See, boy, that is why you’ll never be king. You’re too damned idealistic, too kind-hearted. To be the king of England, you must be willing to crush anyone under your boot. Why else do you think we eventually control half of the world in two hundred years? My God, if you became king, you’d be spouting out things like ‘liberty and democracy for all man’ hundreds of years before it’s time. Even the…<shudders> women would get freedom and equality to vote for whoever she damn well pleased. True power lies in the king, not the common rabble!! <turns to Ross> Give Macbeth the reward.
Ross: It shall be done! <bows and leaves>
How do you think? I know, it might not be as funny as the last parody I did.
If you have any suggestions or comments, let me know.
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