The Play's the Thing

LOCKHART: Do I have to tell you where you're supposed to be, or has everyone read their script?

(sullen muttering)

LOCKHART: Wonderful. We're nearly halfway through now.

(Enter HARRY, followed by COLIN, gagged, and NEVILLE, who has found a teddy bear somewhere and is cuddling it.)

HARRY: Masters, play here; I will content your pains;
Something that's brief; and bid 'Good morrow, general.'

COLIN: Mrfgo? Sntlngtm!

(Enter GOYLE, shoved onstage by CRABBE at DRACO's direction and wearing a stupid hat.)

GOYLE: Why... masters, have your... in-stroo-ments been in... Nipples? that they... speak in the nose thus? (Blinks) Hey Draco, what does that mean?

DRACO: Never mind. It's not important.

NEVILLE: (hugging teddy bear tighter) Howsirhow?

GOYLE: Are these... I pray you... wind in-stroo-ments?

NEVILLE: Aymarryaretheysir?

COLIN: Hurghk!

GOYLE: O... theer-bee... hangs a... tail.

COLIN: Tayghk?! Nu?

NEVILLE: Wherebyhangsatalesir?

GOYLE: Marry. sir, by many a... wind in-stroo-ment that I know... But, masters, here's... moan-ee for you... and the... jen-urr-al so likes... your moo-sik... that he... dez-ires you, for... love's sake... to make no... more... noise with it.

LOCKHART: Oh God... someone make him stop....

HERMIONE: He is trying, sir...

GOYLE: (to them) 'Snot my fault. These words're all funny.

NEVILLE: Wellsirwewillnot?

GOYLE: If you have... any... music that may not be... heard... to't again but... as they say to hear... music... the jen-urr-al does not... greet-ly care.

NEVILLE: (panicked) Wehavenonesuchsir?

GOYLE: Then put... up your pipes... in your bag... for I'll away... go... van-ish... into air... away!

(NEVILLE runs offstage, pulling COLIN along with him)

COLIN: Mrg! Mrg!

HARRY: Dost thou hear, my honest friend?

GOYLE: No... I hear not your... honn-est... friend, I hear you.

DRACO: Only when there's a script....

HARRY: (glares at him) Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor
piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's
wife be stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats her a little
favour of speech: wilt thou do this?

GOYLE: She is... stir-ring... sir: if she will stir... hither? I shall... seem to... not-iff-ee un-toh... her.

HARRY: (hiding smile) Do, good my friend.

(Exit GOYLE. Enter DRACO)

HARRY: In happy time, Iago. (in an undertone) How do you put up with them?

DRACO: (undertone) Practice. (louder) You have not been a-bed, then?

HARRY: Why, no; the day had broke
Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago,
To send in to your wife: my suit to her
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona
Procure me some access.

DRACO: I'll send her to you presently;
And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor
Out of the way, that your converse and business
May be more free.

HARRY: I humbly thank you for't.

(Exit DRACO. HARRY watches him go)

HARRY: (thoughtfully) I never knew
A Florentine more kind and honest.

(Enter HERMIONE, who curtsies. RON, offstage, gapes)

RON: (in sick tones, to LOCKHART) Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess. Acting?

LOCKHART: I assumed so.

HERMIONE: Good morrow, good Lieutenant: I am sorry
For your displeasure; but all will sure be well.
The general and his wife are talking of it;
And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies,
That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus,
And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom
He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you
And needs no other suitor but his likings
To take the safest occasion by the front
To bring you in again.

HARRY: Yet, I beseech you,
If you think fit, or that it may be done,
Give me advantage of some brief discourse
With Desdemona alone.

RON: Does everyone in this play want Desdemona? Ginny...?

GINNY: (giggling nervously) It's just a play, Ron.

HERMIONE: Pray you, come in;
I will bestow you where you shall have time
To speak your bosom freely.

HARRY: I am much bound to you.

SEAMUS: (blinks) Kinky... this Shakespeare guy had social problems, didn't he?

(A snapping sound calls his attention to the Luggage, which has snuck up behind him. SEAMUS gulps)

LOCKHART: You were saying, Mr. Finnegan?

SEAMUS: Oh... nothing, really... nothing....