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Withnail and I Script

Camden Town, London. 1969

The Flat.

A few shafts of sunlight sneak through the curtains and illuminate a living
room. Victorian heirlooms, antique furniture and a pair of iceskates.
Empty bottles everywhere. Marwood is in a chair, smoking a cigarette and
sweating anxiety. Looks at his thumbs. He gets up gingerly and walks into a
kitchen full of bottles, washing up and dead flowers in black water. He
lights the stove and dumps the kettle on it. Now he's down the stairs and
at Withnail's door, knocking.

Marwood:
I'm having a cup of tea, do you want one?

*No response.*

Marwood:
Do you want a cup of tea Withnail?

Withnail:
No.

*He can't stay in this house anymore. He leaves, slamming the door behind
him.*

The Cafe

*Marwood is reading a paper at a table in the cafe. The proprietor is frying
eggs; they flap in a quarter inch of grease. She lifts one out, slaps it into
a sandwich and places it in front of an derelict old woman. The sandwich is
bitten and yolk pours onto the plate. Marwood turns his attention to
another's newspaper; headline: "Love made up my mind, I had to become a
woman". He looks around at the other customers with horror in his eyes.*

Marwood (mentally):
Thirteen million Londoners have to cope with this, and baked beans and
All-bran and rape? And I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't cope with
Withnail. I must be out of my mind. I must go home at once and discuss his
problems in depth.

The Flat

*Marwood stumbles up the barely lit stairs looking unwell. Withnail emerges
from his room holding a bottle and glass and follows him. Looking sicker than
Marwood, he has nevertheless dressed for the occasion; brogues and tweed.
When he speaks he gives away an aristocratic education.*

Withnail:
I have some extremely distressing news.

Marwood:
I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. My God, it's a
nightmare out there I tell you, a nightmare.

Withnail (pouring the last from his bottle):
We've just run out of wine. What are we going to do about it?

Marwood:
I don't know, I don't know. I don't feel good.

*They follow each other into the living room. Marwood has forgotten about the
kettle and the room is filling with steam. Marwood catches himself in the
mirror as he passes.*

Marwood:
Look! My thumbs have gone weird. I'm in the middle of a fucking overdose. My
heart's beating like a fucked clock. I feel dreadful, I feel fucking dreadful.

Withnail:
So do I. So does everyone. (Inspects his tongue in the mirror) Look at my
tongue. It's wearing a yellow sock. Sit down for Christ's sake, what's the
matter with you? Eat some sugar.

*Withnail collapses on the sofa with a newspaper. Marwood is in the kitchen
fighting the vapour. Withnail gets up and starts following him around,
reading from the paper.*

Withnail:
Listen to this. "Curse of the Supermen: I took drugs to win medal says top
athlete Jeff Wode."

Marwood (not listening, looking for something):
Where's the coffee?

Withnail:
"In a world exclusive interview, thirty three year old shot putter Jeff Wode,
who weighs three hundred and seventeen pounds, admitted taking massive doses
of anabolic steroids, drugs banned in sport. 'He used to get in bad tempers
and act daft' said his wife. 'He used to pick on me. But now he's stopped,
he's much better in our sex life and in our general life'."

*Marwood pours water from the kettle into a bowl and goes back into the living
room. Withnail follows, becoming interested in the newspaper story.*

Withnail:
Jesus Christ, this huge, thatched head with its earlobes and cannonball is
now considered sane. Jeff Wode is feeling better and is now prepared to step back
into society and start tossing his orb about. (Waves the paper at Marwood)
Look at him. Look at Jeff Wode. His head must weigh fifty pounds on its own.

*Withnail stands in front of a mirror, combing his lank hair back. Marwood
sits on the sofa and spoons coffee from the bowl. Withnail is becoming
fascinated by Jeff Wode.*

Withnail:
Imagine the size of his balls. Imagine getting into a fight with the fucker!

Marwood:
Please, I don't feel good.

Withnail:
That's what you'd say, but that wouldn't wash with Jeff. No, he'd like a bit
of pleading. Add spice to it. In fact, he'd probably tell you what he was
going to do before he did it. (Starts acting out the scene in his head)
"I'm going to pull your head off". "Oh no, please, don't pull my head off".
"I'm going to pull your head off because I don't like your head."

*He sees Marwood drinking from the bowl.*

Withnail:
Have you got soup? Why didn't I get any soup?

Marwood:
Coffee.

Withnail:
Why don't you use a cup like any other human being?

Marwood:
Why don't you wash up occasionally like any other human being?

Withnail (rising to the challenge):
How dare you? How dare you! How dare you call me inhumane?

Marwood:
I didn't call you inhumane. You merely imagined it. Calm down.

Withnail:
Right you fucker. I'm going to do the washing up!

*He strides towards the kitchen. Marwood jumps up and tries to pacify him.*

Marwood:
No, no, you can't. It's impossible, I swear to you. I've looked into it.
Listen to me, listen to me. There are things in there, there's a tea bag
growing. You haven't slept in sixty hours, you're in no state to tackle it.
Wait until the morning and we'll go in together.

Withnail:
This is the morning. Stand aside!

Marwood (restraining Withnail):
You don't understand. I think there may be something alive.

Withnail:
What do you mean? A rat?

Marwood:
It's possible, it's possible.

Withnail (brandishing his comb):
Then the fucker will rue the day!

*He rushes to the sink and is immediately repelled by the horrific reality
that confronts him .*

Withnail:
Oh Christ Almighty. Sinew in nicotine base. Keep back, keep back. The entire
sink's gone rotten. I don't know what's in here.

*He picks up the white-hot kettle from the stove and hurls it immediately
into the sink.*

Marwood:
I told you. You've been bitten!

Withnail:
Burnt, burnt, the fucking kettle's on fire!

Marwood (transfixed by the contents of the sink):
There's something floating up.

Withnail (wielding cutlery):
Fork it!

Marwood:
No, no. I don't want to touch it.

Withnail:
You must, you must. That poop will bore through the glaze. We'll never be
able to use the dinner service again. (Rumaging through a drawer) Here, get
it with the pliers.

Marwood:
No, no. Give me the gloves.

Withnail:
That's right, put on the gloves. Don't attempt anything without the gloves.

*Marwood moves things about in the sink about. Naso-visual horror.*

Withnail:
What is it? What have you found?

Marwood:
Matter.

Withnail:
Matter? Where's it coming from?

Marwood:
Don't look, don't look. I'm dealing with it.

Withnail (surrendering to the situation and walking away):
I think we've been in here too long. I feel unusual. I think we should go
outside.

Regent's Park

*They walk along a path bordering on the zoo. Early morning daylight. Mist
and drizzle.*

Withnail:
This is ridiculous. Look at me. I'm thirty in a month and I've got a sole
flapping off my shoe.

Marwood:
It'll get better. It has to.

Withnail:
Easy for you to say lovey, you've had an audition. Why can't I have an
audition. It's ridiculous. I've been to drama school. I'm good looking.
I tell you, I've a fuck sight more talent that half the rubbish that gets on
television. Why can't I get on television?

Marwood:
I don't know. It'll happen.

Withnail:
Will it? That's what you say. The only programme I'm likely to get on is the
fucking news. I tell you, I can't take much more of this. I'm going to crack.

Marwood:
I'm in the same boat.

Withnail:
Yeah, yeah. (Sucks on his cigarette, on his last legs) I feel as sick as a
pike. I'm going to have to sit down.

*They sit on a bench. Withnail shivers; looks like he's been there all night.*

Marwood:
You know what we should do? I say, you know what we should do?

Withnail:
How should I possibly know what *we* should do? *What* should we do?

Marwood:
Get out of it for a while. Get into the countryside. Rejuvenate.

Withnail:
Rejuvenate? I'm in a park and I'm practically dead. What good's the
countryside? What time is it?

Marwood:
It's eight.

Withnail:
Four hours to opening time, God help us. Have we got any embrocation?

Marwood:
What for?

Withnail:
To rub on us, you fool. We can cover ourselves in Deep Heat and get up
against a radiator. Keep ourselves alive until twelve.

*He spits and gazes at it.*

Withnail:
Jesus, look at that. Apart from a raw potato, that's the only solid to have
passed my lips in the last sixty hours. I must be ill.

The Flat

*Marwood is writting in a notebook on the sofa while Withnail wanders around
wearing his overcoat and underpants, smearing himself with Deep Heat, smoking
a cigarette.*

Marwood (mentally):
Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, and for once I'm
inclined to believe Withnail is right. We are indeed drifting into the arena
of the unwell. Making an enemy of our own future. What we need is harmony.
Fresh air. Stuff like that.

Withnail:
Wasn't much in the tube. There's nothing left for you.

Marwood:
Why don't you ask your father for some money? If we had some money we could
go away.

Withnail (inspecting a bottle for dregs):
Why don't you ask your father? How can it be so cold in here? It's like
Greenland in here. (Putting on a rubber glove) We've got to get some booze.
It's the only solution to this intense cold. Something's got to be done.
We can't go on like this. I'm a trained actor reduced to the status of a bum!
I mean look at us. Nothing that reasonable members of society demand as their
rights. No fridges, no televisions, no phones. Much more of this and I'm
going to apply for meals on wheels.

Marwood:
What happened to your cigar commercial?

Withnail:
That's what I want to know. what happened to my cigar commercial. What
happened to my agent? Bastard must have died.

Marwood:
September. Bad patch.

Withnail:
Rubbish. (Flings his cigarette across the room) Haven't seen Gielgud down the
Labour Exchange. Why doesn't he retire? (Grabs a newspaper) Look at this
little bastard. "Boy lands plum role for top Italian director." Of course he
does. Probably on a tenner a day and I know what for: two pound ten a tit and
a fiver for his arse.

*A thought strikes him and he turns on Marwood, pointing accusingly.*

Withnail:
Have you been at the controls?

Marwood:
What are you talking about?

Withnail:
The thermostats. What have you done to them?

Marwood:
I haven't touched them.

Withnail:
Then why has my head gone numb? (A crisis point is looming) I must have some
booze. I *demand* to have some booze!

*He lunges towards the mantlepiece and grabs a can of Ronsonol lighter fluid.*

Marwood (standing up):
I wouldn't drink that if I were you.

Withnail (unplugging the can's teat with his teeth):
Why not?

Marwood:
Because I don't advise it. Even the wankers on the site wouldn't drink that.
That's worse than meths.

Withnail:
Nonsense, this is a far superior drink to meths. The wankers don't drink it
because they can't afford it.

*He throws his head back and pours the petrol down his throat. Gagging and
gasping, he's on a buzz.*

Withnail:
Have we got anymore?

*Marwood shakes his head. Withnail, eyes bulging, presses forward, forcing
Marwood to back off.*

Withnail:
Liar. What's in your toolbox?

Marwood:
We have nothing. Sit down.

Withnail:
Liar. You've got anti-freeze.

Marwood:
You bloody fool. You should never mix your drinks!

*An accidental joke, yet this turns Withnail to hysteria. He explodes into
laughter which quickly turns to barking nausea. He falls to the floor and
vomits loudly over Marwood's shoes. Marwood resigns himself to the situation
and gazes ceilingwards.*

The Street

*They walk amongst the dereliction towards a pub, the Mother Black Cap.
Despite his recent intake, Withnail's brain is in gear.*

Withnail:
All right, this is the plan. We get in there and get wrecked. Then we'll eat
a pork pie. Then we drop a couple of Surmontil 50s each; means we'll miss out
Monday but come up smiling Tuesday morning. What's that appalling smell?

Marwood:
Perfume, on my boots. I had to scrub them with essence of petunia.

The Pub

*The pub is full of Irish here to get drunk. Withnail sidewinds his way to
the bar.*

Withnail:
Two large gins, two pints of cider. Ice in the cider.

Marwood:
If my father was loaded I'd ask him for some money.

Withnail:
If your father was my father you wouldn't get it.

Barman:
There you are lads.

Withnail:
Chin chin.

*Withnail chinks his gin glass against Marwood's which he hasn't picked up
yet, and downs it in one. Marwood follows suit and winces.*

Marwood:
What about whatshisname?

Withnail:
What about him?

Marwood:
Why don't you give him a call?

Withnail:
What for?

Marwood:
Ask him about his house.

Withnail:
You want me to call whatshisname and ask him about his house?

Marwood:
Why not?

Withnail:
Alright. What's his number?

Marwood:
I've no idea. I've never met him.

Withnail:
Neither have I. What the fuck are you talking about?

Marwood:
Your relative with a house in the country.

Withnail:
Monty? Uncle Monty?

Marwood:
That's him. That's the one. Get the Jag fixed up and spend a week in the
country.

Withnail:
Alright. Give us a tanner and I'll give him a bell.

Marwood (handing over the note):
Get a couple more in. I'm going for a slash.

*Marwood is at the door to the Gents. Nearby is a huge Irish man nursing the
end of his tenth pint.*

Man:
Ponce.

*I hears him but makes no response. Goes into the Gents.*

Marwood (mentally):
I could hardly piss straight with fear. Here was a man with three quarters of
an inch of brain who'd taken a dislike to me. What had I done to offend him?
I don't consciously offend big men like this. This one has a definite
imbalance of hormone in him. Get any more masculine than him and you'd have
to live up a tree. (He reads eye-level grafitti) "I fuck arses". Who fucks
arses? Maybe he fucks arses. Maybe he's written this in some moment of
drunken sincerity. I'm in considerable danger in here. I must get out of here
at once.

*Marwood heads single mindedly back to the bar.*

Man (calling out across the pub):
Perfumed ponce!

*Withnail is settled at the bar, chewing on a pork pie.*

Withnail:
You'll be pleased to hear Monty's invited us for drinks.

Marwood:
Balls to Monty, we're getting out.

Withnail:
Balls to Monty? I've just spent an hour flattering the bugger.

Marwood:
There's one over there doesn't like the perfume. A big one. Don't look, don't
look. We're in danger, we've got to get out.

Withnail:
What are you talking about?

Marwood:
I've been called a ponce.

*Withnail turns to address the whole pub.*

Withnail:
What fucker said that?

*The Irish bruiser gets up and walks over to them. Now he is upright we see
he is very large indeed and looks in the mood for a fight.*

Man:
I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one. Ponce!

Withnail (smiling through his pork pie):
Would you like a drink?

Man:
What's your name? McFuck?

*As he shouts this he jerks the scarf from around Withnail's neck.*

Withnail (dragging up all his acting abilities):
I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition. If you hit me, it's
murder.

Man (working up a rage):
I'll murder the pair of y'ers!

Withnail:
(Pathetic whisper) My wife is having a baby. (Hits on a plan of action)
Listen, I don't know what my f... (starts to say "friend") acquaintance did
to upset you but it's nothing to do with me. I suggest you both go outside
and discuss it sensibly, in the street.

*Marwood is paralyzed with fear, then Withnail executes his plan. They push
past the huge man and race for the door in blind panic, screaming.*

Withnail:
Out of my way!

The Bathroom

*Marwood is in the bath shaving.*

Marwood (mentally):
Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the
plane. Timechange. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long as you
keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get out because it's
crashing then all at once the frozen hours melt out through the nervous
system and seep out the pores.

*Withnail enters with their lunch from the chippy*

Withnail:
The bastards. Justice suck. It's a miserable cheap cigar and the bastards
won't see me.

Marwood:
Why are we having lunch in here?

Withnail:
It's dinner and Danny's here.

Marwood:
Danny!? How did he get in?

Withnail:
I let him in this morning. He lost one of his clogs. He's come in because of
the perpetual cold. I hope the buggers sales plummet.

Marwood:
I've got your savaloy. Here. I don't want it.

Withnail:
Then stick it in the soap tray and save it for later.

*He scrunches up the paper that was holding his chips and puts it in the
toilet*

Marwood:
Don't vent spleen on me. I'm in the same boat.

Withnail:
Stop saying that. You're not in the same boat. The only thing you're in that
I've been in is this fucking bath.

Marwood:
Danny's here. Head hunter to his friends. Head hunter to everybody. He
doesn't have any friends. The only people he converses with are his clients
and occasionally the police. The purveyor of rare herbs and prescribed
chemicals is back. Will we never be set free?

The Flat

*Marwood comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.*

Marwood:
Danny.

Danny:
You're looking very beautiful man. Have you been away? St. Peter preached the
epistles to the apostles looking like that. Have you got any food.

Marwood:
Mmm, As a matter of fact, got a savaloy.

Danny:
How much is it?

Marwood:
You can have it for nothing.

*Danny sniffs the sausage. Withnail enters from the kitchen gluing the sole
back on his shoe. He is wearing a rather expensive looking suit.*

Danny:
I see you're wearing a suit.

Withnail:
What's it got to do with you?

Danny:
No need to get uptight man. I was merely making an observation. I happened to
be looking for a suit for the coal man two weeks ago. For reasons I can't
really discuss with you the coal man had to go to Jamaica. Got busted coming
back through Heathrow, had the weight under his fez. We worked out that it
would be handy carma for him to get hold of a suit but he's a very low
temperature spade the coal man, went into court wearing a kaftan and a bell.
This doesn't go down at all well. They can handle the kaftan but they can't
handle the bell. So there's this judge sitting there sitting in a cape like
fucking batman with this really rather far out looking hat.

Withnail:
A wig.

Danny:
No man, this was more like a long white hat. So he looks at the coalman and
says 'what's all this. This is a court man. This ain't fancy dress' and the
coal man looks at him and says 'you think you look normal, your honour?'.
Cunt give him two years.

*Marwood laughs a little. Withnail looks on unamuzed.*

Danny:
I'm afraid I can't offer you gentlemen anything.

Marwood:
That's alright Danny. We'd decided to lay off for a bit.

Danny:
That's what I thought. Except for personal use I concur with you. As a matter
of fact I was thinking of retiring and going into business.

Withnail (scoffing):
Doing what?

Danny:
The toy industry.

*There is a stange looking contraption on the table involving a bottle.*

Withnail:
Thought you were in the bottle industry.

Danny:
No man, that's a side line. You can have that. Instructions are included.
Yeah. My partner's got a really good idea for making dolls. His name's
'Presuming Ed'. His sister give him the idea. She got a doll on Christmas
what pisses itself.

Withnail:
Really.

Danny:
Then you've got to change its draws for it. Horrible really but they're like
that the little girls. So we're going to make one that shits itself too.

Withnail:
Shits itself!?

Danny:
He's an expert. He's building the prototype now. (To Marwood) Why's he
behaving so uptightly.

Withnail:
Because a gang of cheroot vendors consider a hair cut beyond the limit of my
abilities.

Danny:
I don't advise a hair cut man. All hairdressers are in the employment of the
government. Hair are your aerials. They pick up signals from the cosmos and
transmit them directly into the brain. This is the reason bold-headed men are
uptight.

Withnail:
What absolute twaddle.

Danny:
Has he just been busted?

Marwood:
No.

Danny:
Then why's he wearing that old suit?

Withnail:
Old suit? This suit was cut by Hawke's of Saville row. Just because the best
tailoring you've ever seen is above you fucking appendix doesn't mean
anything.

Danny:
Don't get uptight with me man. Because if you do I'll have to give you a dose
of medicine and if I spike you you'll know you've been spoken to.

Withnail:
You wouldn't spike me you're too mean. Besides, there's nothing invented I
couldn't take.

Danny:
If I medicined you you'd think a brain tumour was a birthday present.

Withnail:
I could take double anything you could.

Danny (removing his sunglasses):
Very, very foolish words man.

Marwood:
He's right Withnail. Look at him . His mechanisms gone. He's had more drugs
than you've had hot dinners.

Withnail:
I'm not having this shag-sack insulting me. Let him get his drugs out.

*Danny gets a doll out of a bag.*

Danny:
This doll is extremely dangerous. It has voodoo qualities.

*Withnail snorts. Danny takes the head off the doll and extracts a handful of
pills.*

Danny:
Trade: Phenodihydrochloride benzelex. Street: The Embalmer.

Withnail:
Balls. I'll swallow it and run a mile.

Danny:
Cool your boots man. This pill's valued at two quid.

Withnail:
Two quid! You're out of your mind.

Marwood:
That's sense Withnail.

Withnail:
You can stuff it up your arse for nothing and fuck off while you're doing it.

Danny:
No need to insult me man. I was leaving anyway. Have either of you got shoes?

Monte's house

*A battered Jag pulls up outside Monte's house and Withnail and Marwood get
out. There is a rather flash looking open-topped Rolls parked outside. The
sound of a Schubert piano sonata comes from the house.*

Withnail:
Monte's car.

*Withnail knocks on the door. Monte, a rather fat, effeminate, middle-aged
gentleman, opens the door. He is holding a very large fluffy cat and a
watering can.*

Monty:
Oh hello. Come in.

*They enter and go into the lounge.*

Monty:
Sit down, do. Would you like a drink?

*They sit together on a sofa.*

Withnail:
Sherry.

Monty (to Marwood):
Sherry?

Marwood:
Sherry.

*Monty moves to the sideboard and pours the drinks. Withnail lights up yet
another cigarette.*

Monty:
Do you like vegetables? I've always been fond of root crops but I only
started to grow last summer. I happen to think the cauliflower more beautiful
than the rose.

Withnail:
Chin chin.

*He drinks the sherry.*

Monty:
Do you grow?

Withnail:
Geraniums.

Monty:
Oh you little traitors. I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating than
the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially tarts.
Prostitutes for the bees. There is you'll agree a certain je ne ses quoi oh
so very special about a firm young carrot. Excuse me. Do help yourselves to
another drink.

*Withnail turns and reaches a bottle over from the sideboard. He takes a long
swig.*

Marwood:
What's all this. The man's mad.

Withnail:
Eccentric.

Marwood:
Eccentric? He's insane. Not only that he's a raving homosexual.

*There is a yowl from the cat. Monte storms back into the room preceded by
the cat.*

Monty:
You beastly little parasite. How dare you? You little thug. How dare you?
Ooohhhh. Beastly ungrateful little swine.

*He deposits his considerable bulk on the other sofa, facing the first.*

Withnail:
Shall I get you a drink Monte?

Monty:
Yes. Yes please dear boy. You can prepare me a small rhesus negative Bloody
Mary. And you must tell me all the news. I haven't seen you since you
finished your last film.

*Marwood smiles wriley to himself. Withnail downs the drink he has prepared
for himself, pours another and starts making the Bloody Mary for Monty.*

Withnail:
Rather busy uncle. TV and stuff. My agent's trying to edge me towards the
Royal Shakespeare again.

Monty:
Oh splendid.

Withnail:
He's just had an audition for rep.

Monty:
Oh splendid. So you're a thespian too?

*Withnail delivers Monte's drink and sits beside him.*

Withnail:
Monte used to act.

Monty:
I'd hardly say that. It's true I crept the boards in my youth but I never had
it in my blood and that's what so essential isn't it? Theatrical zeal in the
veins. Alas, I have little more that vintage wine and memories.

*He stands and looks at a photograph on the mantlepiece.*

Monty:
It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when he awakes and
quite reasonable says to himself: (He puts his hand on his heart) I will
never play The Dane. When that moment comes, ones ambition ceases. Don't you
agree?

Withnail:
A part I intend to play, Uncle.

Monty:
And you'll be marvelous. (He starts quoting from Hamlet) We do it wrong,
being so majestical. To offer it the show of violence......

*As Monte rambles in the background Marwood steps over to Withnail and
whispers.*

Marwood:
He's a madman. Any moment now he's going to rush out and get into his tights.

Withnail:
Ok ok. Give me a minute.

Marwood:
The house or out.

*Withnail stands and moves over to Monte.*

Withnail:
Could I have a word with you Monte?

Monty:
Oh forgive me dear boy, forgive me. I was allowing memories to have the
better of me.

Withnail:
Shall I get you a top up?

*He moves to the sideboard again. Monte sits down and reminisces.*

Monty:
Indeed I remember my first agent. Raymond Duck. Dreadful little Israelite.
Four floors up at the Charring Cross and never a job at the top of them. I'm
told you're a writer too. Do you write poems?

Marwood:
No, I wish I could. It's just thoughts really.

Monty:
Have you published?

Marwood:
No no.

Monty:
Where did you school?

Withnail:
He went to the other place Monte.

Monty:
Oh you went to Eton?

*The cat reappears on Marwood's chair.*

Monty:
Get that damned little swine out of here. It's trying to get itself in with
you. It's trying for even more advantage. It's obsessed with its gut just
like a bloody rugby ball. Now it will die, it will die!

*He storms around ineffectually.*

Withnail:
Monte, Monte.

Monty:
No dear boy you must leave, you must leave. Once again that oaf has destroyed
my day.

Withnail:
Listen Monte. Can I just have a quick word in private.

Monty:
Oh, very well.

*Later they are leaving the house. Monty shows them to the door.*

Monty:
Good night my dears.

Withnail:
Good night Monty.

*Monty closes the inner door to the porch behind them.*

Marwood:
What's all this going off in private business? Why did you tell him I went to
Eton?

Withnail:
Because it wouldn't have helped if I hadn't.

Marwood:
What do you mean by that?

Withnail (showing him the key to the cottage):
Free to those that can afford it. Very expensive to those that can't.

The car

*They leave Camden in Marwood's battered old Jag. Withnail, still in his suit,
has a bottle and is clearly drunk. They pass some schoolgirls.*

Withnail:
Scrubbers!

Scrubber:
Up yours grandad!

Withnail:
Scrubbers! scrubbers!

Marwood:
Shut up.

Withnail:
Little tarts they love it.

Marwood:
Listen, I'm trying to drive this thing as quietly as possible. If you don't
shut up we'll get stopped by the police.

*The pass a notice anouncing an accident blackspot.*

Withnail:
Look at that, look at that. Accident black spot. These aren't accidents.
They're throwing themselves into the road gladly. Throwing themselves into
the road to escape all this hideousness. (To a pedestrian) Throw yourselves
into the road darling, you haven't got a chance.

*Somewhat later they join the motorway.*

Withnail:
At some point or another I want to stop and get hold of a child.

Marwood:
What do you want a child for?

Withnail:
To tutor it in the ways of righteousness and procure some uncontaminated
urine.

*He takes out the bottle and instructions provided by Danny.*

Withnail:
This is a device enabling the drunken driver to operate in absolute safety.
You fill this with piss, take this pipe down the trouser and sellotape this
valve to the end of the old chap. Then you get horrible drunk and they can't
fucking touch you. According to these instructions, you refuse everything
except a urine sample. You undo your valve, give them a dose of unadulterated
child's piss and they have to give you your keys back. Danny's a genius. I'm
going to have a doze.

*They drive on. Later, with the light fading, they leave the motorway. It
becomes clear that the car has only one functioning headlight. Still later it
is totally dark and raining heavily. Marwood stops and attempts to transfer
the single wiper from Withnail's side of the car to his own but it refuses to
come off. He gets back in the car and in shutting the door wakes Withnail,
who looks considerably the worse for wear.*

Withnail:
Are we there?

Marwood:
No, we're not we're here and we're in the middle of a fucking gale. Now
you'll have to keep a look out your side. If you see anything tell me. Get
hold of that map.

Withnail:
Where's the whisky?

Marwood:
What for?

Withnail:
I've got a bastard behind the eyes. I can't take aspirins without a drink.
Where's the aspirin?

Marwood:
Probably in the bathroom.

Withnail:
You mean we've come out here in the middle of fucking nowhere without
aspirins?

Marwood:
Where are we?

Withnail:
How should i know where we are. I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Marwood:
Now get hold of that map and look for a place called Crow Crag.

The cottage

*They draw up in a yard and get out of the car. Withnail staggers around
aimlessly as Marwood gets the baggage from the boot.*

Withnail:
There must and shall be aspirins.

Marwood:
Give me the key and get out of the way.

Withnail:
If I don't get aspirin I shall die here on this fucking mountainside.

*They enter the house. Marwood lights a match and finds a lantern which he
lights. As the light comes up the inside of the cottage becomes visible. It is
rather spartan.*

Withnail:
Christ almighty.

*Marwood looks round a little more thouroughly. He notices a picture of Monty
on the wall.*

Marwood:
Monty!

*He looks accross to Withnail who is sat dejectedly in a chair.*

Marwood:
What are you doing?

Withnail:
Sitting down to enjoy my holiday.

Marwood:
Right, now we're going to have to approach this scientifically. First thing
we've got to do is get this fire alight, then we split into two fact finding
groups. I'll deal with the water and the plumbings, you check the fuel and
wood situation.

*A little later Withnail re-enters the cottage from a rather wet and windy
night. He is holding a small stick.*

Marwood:
What's that?

Withnail:
The fuel and wood situation. There's nothing out there except a hurricane.
This place is uninhabitable.

*They sit close to the fire, which is rather small.*

Marwood:
Give it a chance. It's got to warm up.

Withnail:
Warm up!? We may as well sit round a cigarette. This is ridiculous. We'll be
found dead in here next spring.

*He attemps half-heartedly to light a cigarette.*

Withnail:
I've got a blinding fucking headache. Got to have heat!

*He stands and smashes a chair against the floor. A little later the fire is
burning considerably higher.*

Withnail:
Problem's we've got to keep this bastard burning.

Marwood:
Well we've got enough furniture for tonight. Tomorrow we get down that farm
and get some logs.

Withnail:
This is a mistake I tell you. This is a dreadful mistake.

Marwood's bedroom

*Marwood wakes the next morning and gets out of bed. He checks on Withnail who
is still asleep. He steps outside and walks accross the yard to examine the
view. It is quite magnificent. Later, he is dressed and walks down to the
farm. The building is surrounded by an assortment of farmyard junk. He knocks
at the door*

Old woman:
Who's there?

Marwood:
Me!

*The door opens cautiously and an old woman peers out inquiringly.*

Old woman:
What do you want?

Marwood:
I'm a friend of Montague Withnail. He's lent us his cottage. I wondered if
you could sell us some food. Eggs and things.

*She looks blankly at him.*

Marwood:
What about wood and coal?

*Again, he elicits no responce. Seeing she is wearing a hearing aid, he bends
down and talks directly to it.*

Marwood:
I'm not from London you know!

Old woman:
I don't care where you come from.

*She slams the door. Marwood walks away.*

Marwood (mentally):
Not the attitude I'd been given to expect from the H E Bates novel I'd read.
I thought they'd all be out the back drinking cider, discussing butter.
Clearly a myth. Evidently country people and no more receptive to strangers
than city dwellers.

*He walks back to the house and addresses the door.*

Marwood:
Do you think you could tell me where I could buy some coal and wood?

Old woman:
You'll have to see my son. He runs this farm.

Marwood:
Where is you son?

Old woman:
Up in top field. You can't miss him, his legs bound in polythyne.

The cottage

*Marwood walks back into the yard outside the cottage, slips, and falls in the
mud. He picks himself up and storms inside.*

Marwood:
Withnail you bastard wake up.

*He bangs on the ceiling and moves to the sink to wash.*

Marwood:
Oye, wake up you bastard you've got to get wood.

*Withnail enters, dressed already and wrapped in a blanket.*

Withnail:
Jesus, you're covered in shit.

Marwood:
I tried to get fuel and wood, there's a miserable little pensioner down there
wouldn't give it me.

Withnail:
Where are we going to get it then?

Marwood:
There's a man up on the mountain. Why he's up there, fuck knows, but he's up
there with a leg bound in polythene, you can't miss him, he's your man. And
have another look in that shed. Find anything. If you can't find anything,
bring in the shed.

*Later, they are sat down to a simple lunch.*

Marwood:
How come Monty owns such a horrible little shack?

Withnail:
No idea.

Marwood:
You never discuss your family do you?

Withnail:
I fail to see my family's of any interest to you. I've absolutely no interest
in yours. I dislike relatives in general and in particular mine.

Marwood:
Why?

Withnail:
I've told you why. We're incompatible. They don't like me being on stage.

*He stands up and takes a foil from its bracket on the wall and strides up
and down in actorly fashion.*

Marwood:
Then they must be delighted with your career.

Withnail:
What do you mean?

Marwood:
You rarely are.

*Withnail points the sword menacingly, although there is a cork on the end.*

Withnail:
You just wait. Just you wait. When I strike they won't know what hit them.

*He hears a noise from outside.*

Withnail:
Tractor approaching.

*He goes to the window and knocks his head on the lantern hanging from the
ceiling.*

Marwood:
Then get after it. That's the man.

*They rush out of the cottage and pursue the tractor.*

Withnail:
Hey, stop!

Marwood:
Stop.

Withnail:
Stop.

Marwood:
Stop please!

*The tractor driver notices them and stops.*

Withnail:
Stop please! Please stop!

*They run up to the side of the tractor and address the driver, Mr Parkin.*

Withnail:
Are you the farmer? (To Marwood) Shut up, I'll deal with this. (to Parkin)
We've gone on holiday by mistake. We're in this cottage here. Are you the
farmer?

Marwood:
Stop saying that Withnail, of course he's the fucking farmer. (To Parkin)
We're friends of Montague Withnail, we desperately need fuel and wood.

*The farmer shakes his head, bewildered.*

Marwood:
Montague Withnail, you must know him. Fat man, owns the cottage.

Parkin:
Ay, seen the fat man. London type. Queer sort. Think his name's French or
something.

Withnail:
French!?

Parkin:
Ay, Adrian de la Touche. He hasn't been up here for couple of years. Last
time I saw him, he were, he were with his son.

Marwood:
Yeah, that's him.

Withnail:
Listen, we're bona fide. We're not from London. Could we have some fuel and
wood?

Parkin:
Ay, I could bring you up some logs later but I've got the cows and that to
feed first.

Withnail:
When?

Marwood:
Shut up. That would be very kind of you. Erm, what about food? Do you think
you could sell us something to eat?

Parkin:
I could bring you up a chicken but you'll have to go to the village really.

Marwood:
That would be very kind of you Mr?

Parkin:
Parkin.

Marwood:
Mr Parkin. What happened to your leg?

Parkin:
Got a randy bull up there. Give me one in knee!

*They walk back inside. Marwood claps Withnail on the back. Back inside,
Withnail removes his boots and places them in the oven attached to the fire.*

Marwood:
You want to get out the back don't you? Get some spuds up.

Withnail:
Sorry I can't. My boots are in the oven.

Marwood:
You'd go if you had boots?

Withnail:
Gladly.

*Withnail emerges from the back door with polythene bags tied around his feet.
He walks into the garden and after a little unearths a potato.*

Withnail:
I've got one!

*Later, the potatoes are peeled and ready to be cooked. Marwood sits reading
'Journey's end' while Withnail dozes in front of the fire. Marwood hears the
tractor once again and goes out to meet Parkin. He is there with some logs.*

Marwood:
Great. How much do we own you?

Parkin:
Pay us when you come down.

Marwood:
What about this chicken?

Parkin:
's on back.

*Back inside Marwood has left the chicken on the table. It is alive and looks
round questioningly. He nudges Withnail to wake him.*

Marwood:
Oye! Oye! Parkin's been. There's the supper!

Withnail:
What are we supposed to do with that?

Marwood:
Eat it.

Withnail:
Eat it? Fucker's alive.

Marwood:
Yeah, you've got to kill it.

Withnail:
Me? I'm the firelighter and fuel collecter.

Marwood:
Yeah, I know, but I got the logs in. It takes away your appetite just looking
at it.

Withnail:
No it doesn't, I'm starving. How can we make it die?

Marwood:
You've got to throttle them. Withnail, I think you ought to kill it instantly
in case it starts trying to make friends with us.

Withnail:
Alright, you get hold of it. I'll strangle it.

Marwood:
I can't. Those dreadful, beady eyes, they stare you out.

Withnail:
It's a bloody chicken. Just think of it with bacon across its back. Right,
I'll deal with this. You'll have to get its guts out.

*Later, Marwood is washing his hands in the sink having finished getting the
chickens guts out. Withnail enters with a shotgun and points it at Marwood's
head.*

Marwood:
Never point guns at people! Extremely dangerous. Now, what about this
roasting dish? What are we going to cook it in?

Withnail:
You're the food and plummings man. I've no idea. I wish I'd found this an
hour ago. I'd have taken great pleasure in gunning this pullet down.

*He pokes the chicken with the gun. It still has a few feathers.*

Withnail:
Shouldn't it be more bald than that?

Marwood:
No it shouldn't. Right, we're going to have to reverse the roles. We can bake
the potatoes in the oven and boil this bastard over the fire.

*He tries to push the chicken into a kettle but it is too large to fit.*

Withnail:
Lets get its feet off.

Marwood:
No, it's going to need it's feet.

*He removes the chicken and takes it to the fire. Opening the oven, he
removes Withnail's steaming boots and points to the brick in the oven.*

Marwood:
Straddle them either side of that.

*He sits the chicken on the brick.*

A phonebox

*Marwood is smoking stood outside the phonebox waiting for Withnail.*

Withnail:
I've already put two shilling pieces in. No I havn't got another. It's not my
fault if the system doesn't work.

*He emerges from the phonebox.*

Withnail:
Bitch hung up on me.

*Marwood fishes around in his pocket and finds a shilling for Withnail who
goes back into the phonebox and dials.*

Withnail:
Hello. How are you? Very well. What! Why wouldn't they see me? This is
ridiculous. I haven't been up in a job for three months. Understudy
Constantine!? I'm not going to understudy Constantine, why can't I play the
part? This is ridiculous. No, I'm not in London, Penryth. Penryth! Well,
what about TV? Listen, I pay you ten percent to do that. Well lick ten
percent of the arses for me. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? How dare you! Fuck
you!

*He takes out his frustration on the phone, hitting it for a while then
leaves the phonebox.*

Withnail:
Bastard asked me to understudy Constantine in The Seagull. I'm not going to
understudy anyone, especially that little pimp. Anyway, I loath those Russian
plays. Always full of women starring out of windows whinning about ducks
going to Moscow.

*Returning from Penryth they walk accross a field. Marwood is carrying some
shopping.*

Withnail:
What do you think to Desmond Wolf?

Marwood:
With respect to what?

Withnail:
I'm thinking of changing my name.

Marwood:
Too like Donald Woolfe.

*He hands the bag to Withnail and opens a gate. It is clearly marked 'Shut
this gate'*

Marwood:
Here, changeover point.

*Withnail slams the gate behind them but it doesn't fasten. They see Parkin
on his tractor.*

Withnail:
Do you think he's happier than us?

Marwood:
No.

Withnail:
I suppose happiness is relative. I never thought it would be a polythene bag
without the hole in it.

*Parkin turns the tractor towards them, stops and runs towards them.*

Marwood:
What's up with him?

Parkin:
Shut that gate, shut that bull!

Marwood:
You didn't shut the gate!

Parkin:
Shut that gate, shut that bull!

*A bull appears and pushes the gate open. Withnail thrusts the bag into
Marwood's hands and vaults the wall. Marwood is left facing the bull in a
narrow corridor between two walls.*

Withnail:
Grab its ring. Keep your bag up. Outvive him.

Parkin:
Hey, listen, show no fear! Just run at it.

Marwood:
Well that can't be sensible can it? The bastard's about to run at me.

Parkin:
Well he's randy!

Marwood:
Yeah, yeah. I know he is.

*Withnail has his cigarettes out and is lighting up.*

Withnail:
Wants to get down there and have sex with those cows.

Marwood:
Shut up Withnail!

Parkin:
Just run at it, shouting!

Withnail:
Do as he says, start shouting. It won't gore you.

Marwood:
A coward you are Withnail. An expert on bulls you are not!

*He shouts and throws the shopping in the air. The bull roars, Marwood shouts
again and runs at it. It turns and retreats to its field.*

Parkin:
Shut that gate and keep it shut.

Withnail:
I think an evening at the Crow!

The fields

*It is dark. The silloutes of Withnail and Marwood appear on the skyline.*

Marwood (narrating):
If the Crow and Crown had ever had life it was dead now. It was like walking
into a lung. A self-sustained nicotin-yellow and fly-blown lung. Its landlord
was a retired alcoholic with military pretentions and a complection like the
inside of a teapot. By the time the doors opened he was arseholed on rum and
got progresively more arseholed until he could take no more and fell over at
about twelve 'o' clock.

The Crow and Crown

*Withnail and Marwood are stood at the bar.*

Withnail:
We'll have another pair of large scotches.

*Raymond, the publican, gets the drink and takes the money for them. In
opening the till he just avoids falling over. Withnail and Marwood suppress
laughter.*

Raymond:
Thought I was going for a minute but no man's put me down yet. Have you had
any training in the martial arts?

Withnail:
Yes, as a matter of I have. Before I became a journalist I was in the
terretorials.

Raymond:
Do you know, when you first came in here I knew you were a services man. You
can never, never disguise it.

Withnail:
What were you in?

Raymond:
Tanks. Afrika Korps. A little before your time. Don't suppose you've engaged.

Withnail:
Ireland.

Raymond:
Ooooh, a crack at the Mick.

Withnail:
We'll have another pair of large scotches.

Raymond:
These shall be my pleasure. What are you doing up here then?

Withnail:
We're doing a feature for Country Life. Survey of rural types: farmers,
traveling tinkers, milkmen; that sort of thing.

Raymond:
Have you met Jake? Poacher. Works the lake but keep it under your hat, hmm?

*They take their drinks to a table.*

Marwood:
What's all this army bollocks?

Withnail:
We got a drink didn't we?

*Rather later, the pair are the only remaining customers. Raymond, wiping
down the bar, is clearly leggless.*

Raymond:
Time please gentlemen.

Marwood:
I think he means it.

*The door clatters open and a man in a thick coat walks in, leans over the
bar and helps himself to a beer. Marwood nudges Withnail. The man takes an eel
from his trousers which wriggles around violently. He strikes its head on the
bar and returns it to his trousers.*

Marwood:
Ask him if we can have one.

Withnail:
What for?

Marwood:
So that we can eat it! 'We're fed up with stew'

*They approach the bar.*

Withnail:
Excuse me, could we have an eel? You've got eels down your leg.

Jake:
You leave them alone. Nothing down there of interest to you.

*He removes a pheasant from under his coat.*

Jake:
Help us out Raymond. He's been stuffed from arsehole to t' beak.

Marwood:
Ask him if we can have one of those. Go on.

Withnail:
Excuse me, we were wondering if we could purchase a pheasant off of you.

Jake:
No.

Withnail:
Come on old boy. What's in your hump?

Jake:
Those pheasants are for his pot. There eels are for my pot. Now what makes
you think I should give you something for your pot?

Withnail:
What pot?

Marwood:
Our cooking pot.

Jake:
Ah, he know. Here, give us a wheeze on that fag.

*He takes the cigarette from Withnail's mouth and takes a draw. Marwood gives
him the remains of a packet.*

Jake:
Might come up and see you lads in the week . Might bring you up a rabbit.

Withnail:
We don't want a rabbit, we want a pheasant.

Jake:
Now listen here you young prat. Haven't got no pheasants. Haven't got no
birds. No more than you have.

Withnail:
Of course you have, you're the poacher.

Jake:
If I hear more words out of you I'll come up and set one of these black pods
on you.

Withnail:
Don't threaten me with a dead fish.

Jake:
Half dead he might be, but I'll come up after you and wake you up with a live
one.

Withnail:
Sod your pheasants. You'll have to find us first.

*They make to leave*

Jake:
I know where you are. You're at crow crag. I've been wathching you.
Especially you, prancing like a tit. You want working on boy.

Outside

Withnail:
If I see that sillage heap prowling around here i'll take the bastard axe to
him. bastards. you'll all suffer. i'm going to be a star!

The cottage

Withnail:
Vegtables again. I'll be sprouting feelers soon.

Marwood:
There's black pudding in it.

Withnail:
Black puddings are no good to us. I want somethings flesh!

The fields

Withnail:
I think I'll call myself Donald Twain. Get down, get down. It's him, what
does he want?

Marwood:
Better get down there and ask him.

Withnail:
Don't be ridiculous, he's got a gun. Bastard's phycotic, you've only got to
look at him.

The cottage

Withnail:
This place has become impossible. Nothing to eat, freezing cold and now a
madman on the prowl outside with eels.

Marwood:
Alright you've made your point. we pack up tomorrow and get out.

Withnail:
Where are you going?

Marwood:
I'm going for a slash.

Withnail:
You can't go outside, I can't get my boots on when they're hot.

Marwood:
Then I'll go alone.

Withnail:
No you won't these are the sort of windows faces look in at.

Marwood:
Alright then I won't have a slash.

Withnail:
And in both our interests I think we should sleep together tonight.

Marwood:
Don't be ridiculous he's not going to come up here in the dark.

Withnail:
Yes he is and if he catches one of us off guard he's got a much better chance
of dealing with the other.

Marwood:
No.

Marwood's bedroom

Marwood:
Ha ha ha ha ha.

Withnail:
What are you laughing about.

Marwood:
I was dreaming.

Withnail:
You frightened the piss out of me. Move over.

Marwood:
Will you get out.

Withnail:
No.

Marwood:
Alright, I'll have to sleep in your bed.

Withnail:
Then I'll have to come with you.

Marwood:
Alright you can stay but the gun goes.

Withnail:
No, I have to keep the gun. I intend to stay awake until morning.

Marwood:
It's my bed and I demand presidence. Mad fucking bastard.

///*Later on in Marwood's room*

Marwood:
Ah ah. What.

Withnail:
I heard a noise.

Marwood:
There is nothing. Get to bed. What was that?

Withnail:
Listen, listen.

Marwood:
Probably just foxes. Perhaps its the farmer.

Withnail:
At two in the morning? It's the killer. He's come to kill us. It's all your
fault, you've even given him the fucking gun. I've got to get in. He's trying
to get in.

Marwood:
He can't, he'll go away. He's going away.

Withnail:
He's getting in thorough the window. He's sharpening the fucking knife.

Marwood:
Where's the matches?

Withnail:
In the kitchen.

Marwood:
Alright. We'll have to tackle with him. You stay in bed and pretend to be
asleep. When he goes for you I'll jump on his back.

Withnail:
No no, it'll be too late by then, I'll be knifed. We'll have to try and make
friends with him. He's going to your room. It's you he wants. Offer him
yourself. (Withnail brings the covers up in fear) We mean no harm.

Monty:
Oh my boys, my boys!

Marwood:
Monty! Monty Monty!

Withnail:
Monty, you terrible cunt! What are you doing prowling round in the middle of
the fucking night?

Monty:
I had a punctured tyre. I had to wait an aeon for assistance. I'm sorry if I
frightened you. I'll sleep in the other room if I may.

Marwood:
Anywhere you like Monty.

***********************

Monty:
Ah, good morning. Did you sleep well?

Marwood:
Mmm. You've been busy in here.

Monty:
As a bee. I do apologise for last night, it was perfectly inconsidereate of
me.

Marwood:
That's perfectly alright Monty. how did you repair the window?

Monty:
Didn't break it, merely forced it a little. There was an empty wine bottle on
the ledge. Tomatoes. You'd better wake him, breakfast in fifteen minutes.

**********************

Monty:
The older order changeth giving way to the new and God fulfills himself in
many ways and soon, I suppose, I shall be swept away by some vulgar little
tumour. My boys, we are at the end of an age. We live in a land of 'weather
forcasts' and breakfasts that 'set in'. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by
Labour. Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the
Rolls for the rest of the wine?

Marwood:
I'll go.

Withnail:
I'll go.

Marwood:
No, I'll go. I need to see about digging the car out.

Monty:
But we have my car dear boy.

Marwood:
Yes, but if it rains we're buggered. I mean...

Monty:
Stranded!

Withnail:
Leave this to me.

Marwood:
I'll come with you, I could do with a walk. Besides. I shall need you to
work on the joint. I hear you're a little wizard in the kitchen.

Withnail:
Yeah, you're the food and plumbings expert.

*He starts putting his polythene bags on.*

Monty:
What on earth are those?

Withnail:
Oh, we forgot to bring our wellingtons.

Monty:
You mean you've been up here in all this beastly mud and oomska without
wellingtons? This afternoon I'll take you both into Penryth and get you
fitted with some good quality rubber boots.

********************

The kitchen.

*Monty has an apron on and is holding another.*

Monty:
I brought two of these in case either of you were any good in the kitchen.

Marwood:
I'm not.

Monty:
Oh, of course you are. Cooking's one of the natural talents. Garlic, rosemary
and salt.

*He hands Marwood a large joint of meat in a paper wrapper. I puts it down on
the side.*

Marwood:
Look this is all very kind of you Monty but I really ought to be out there
getting some work done on the car.

Monty:
You haven't time, we're taking late luncheon at three.

Marwood:
We'll have to leave by three Monty. Didn't he tell you? We've got to get back
to sign on.

Monty:
"Sign on?" At a labour exchange?

Marwood:
Yes, it's rather fashionable actually. All the actors do it. Even Redgrave.

Monty:
Couldn't you forgo for just this one occasion? I've come a very long way to
see you both.

Marwood:
Sorry can't. I mean, I'd love to stay but he's more adamant to get back than
I am.

*Monty slips the apron over Marwood's head and ties it behind him.*

Monty:
Then we must choose our moment and have a word with him. I'm sure together we
could persuade him. Now, garlic, rosemary and salt. I can never touch meat
until it's cooked. As a youth I used to weep in butchers shops.

*Marwood moves through to the lounge and looks in the bags of food on the
table.*

Marwood:
I can't find the rosemary.

Monty:
Can't find the rosemary! I'm sure we could find it together.

*He leans across Marwood in a rather comprimising fashion.*

Marwood:
Perhaps it's in the other bag.

Monty:
Perhaps it is. Shall we look?

*He reaches accross with his other arm cutting of any oportunity of escape.
Withnail enters with the wine and puts the bags on the table.*

Withnail:
Sorry. Sherry's in there.

*Monty exits to the kitchen armed with the sherry.*

Marwood:
What do you mean sorry!? What's he doing here? We can't stay he won't leave
me alone.

Withnail:
Alright, we'll get the dinner down then we'll leave.

*In the kitchen Monty pulls the cork from the sherry and emerges with three
different glasses.*

Monty:
I'm afraid we must drink from these. I hope their shapes will not offend your
palates.

Withnail:
Chin chin.

Monty:
To a delightful weekend in the country.

***********************

Penryth

*Monty's car drives into Penryth and pulls up in the town centre. Withnail
and Marwood get out of the car. Compared to Monty and the car they look rather
scruffy.*

Monty:
I do think you could at least have shaved. What will people think, you look
like a pair of farm-hands. Get away from the car.

*He takes out his wallet and hands Withnail two fivers.*

Monty:
Now, you get the wellingtons. I'm going to buy some razors and shaving soap.
I'll meet you here in half an hour.

*Monty drives off*

Withnail:
Couple of blooms.

Marwood:
One each.

*He removes a fiver from Withnail's hand*

Withnail:
I think a drink don't you?

Marwood:
What about the wellingtons?

Withnail:
Oh, bollocks to the wellingtons. We'll tell him there was a farmer's
conference and they had a run on them.

*******************

Inside the pub

*Marwood is on the telephone while Withnail is at the bar.*

Marwood:
Yeah, ok then. Yeah. Promise.

*He puts down the phone and walks over to Withail*

Marwood:
Hasn't heard a thing. They're still seeing people.

Withnail:
You don't want to go to Manchester anyway; play a bloody soldier.

Marwood:
I don't know if I do. Bloody good little theatre that.

Withnail:
It's not much of a part is it. They'd make you cut you hair off.

Marwood:
So what, you'd loose a leg!

Barman:
Time please gents.

Withnail:
Alright we're going to have to work quickly. A pair of quadruple whiskies and
another pair of pints please.

********************

*Withnail and Marwood emerge unsteadily from the pub.*

Withnail:
Where is he. Utterly aresholed.

Marwood:
We're early.

*Marwood looks accross to some tearooms*

Marwood:
We want to get in there don't we. Eat some cake. Soak up the booze.

*********************

*They enter the Penryth tea-rooms. Marwood sits down at a table and starts
buttering the bread rolls on the table. Withnail, still standing, points to
the table and addresses an elderly waitress, Miss Blennerhassit.*

Withnail:
Alright here?

Miss B:
No, we're closing in a minute.

Withnail:
We're leaving in a minute. Alright here?

Miss B:
What do you want?

*He sits down at the table and makes a rather perfunctory examination of the
menu.*

Withnail:
We'll have tea and cake.

*An elderly man comes across to their table. He is the proprietor*

P:
Did you hear her? She said she'd closed. What do you want in here?

Withnail:
Cake and tea. What's it got to do with you?

P:
I happen to be the proprietor. Now, will you leave?

Withnail:
Ah good, I'm glad you're the proprietor. I was going to have to have a word
with you anyway. We're doing a film up here, location see. We might want to
do a film in here.

P:
You're drunk.

Marwood:
Just bring out the cake.

Withnail:
Cake and fine wine.

Miss B:
If you don't leave we'll call the police.

Withnail:
Balls! We want the finest wines availible to humanity. We want them here, and
we want them now.

P:
The police, Miss Blennerhassit.

*Marwood breaks off from stuffing breadrolls but hasn't quite emptied his
mouth*

Marwood:
Don't do that Miss Blenerhassit. I'm warning you Miss Blennerhassit, if you
do, you're fired. We are multi-millionaries. We'll buy this place and fire
you immediately.

Withnail:
Yeah, that's right, we'll buy this place and install a fucking jukebox and
liven all you stiffs up a bit.

P:
The police Miss Blenerhassit. Just tell them there are a couple of drunks in
the Penryth tea rooms and we'd like them removed.

Marwood:
We are not drunks, we are multi-millionaires.

P:
Come on Mabs, we'll keep them here until they arrive.

*She starts to dial*

Withnail:
You won't keep us anywhere.

Miss B:
Police please.

Withnail:
We'll buy this place and have it knocked down.

Marwood:
It's alright, 's alright. Our car has arrived.

*He pulls back a curtain to reveal that indeed their car has arrived, in the
form of Monty in the Rolls. They get up and Marwood staggers out the door*

Withnail:
We're coming back in here.

*He tries to lean on a convenient post but misses and staggers a bit. He
points meaningfully at the various customers as he leaves, shutting his coat
in the door.*

********************

The cottage

*Withnail and Marwood are sat inside. There is no sign of Monte. Marwood has
just finished shaving and is rubbing his face with a towel.*

Marwood:
Where is he?

Withnail:
Sulking up the hill. He says he won't come down for lunch without an
appology.

Marwood:
Suits me, he can eat his fucking radish.

*Unseen, Monte enters and addresses Marwood*

Monty:
It's all you fault.

Marwood:
I beg your pardon Monte.

Monty:
You lead him astray. Oh don't pretend you don't understand, I know what
you're up to.

*Withnail stands up and offers Monte a glass*

Withnail:
Sherry?

Monty:
Sherry!? Oh no, no, no, no. I'll fall straight into his trap. He's so mauve
we don't know what he'll do next.

*Marwood walks out in distgust as Monte sips the sherry.*

**********************

The kitchen

*Marwood is at the sink peeling potatoes. Monte enters*

Monty:
I'm preparing myself to forgive you. I think you've been punished enough. I
think we better release you from the legume and transfer you talents to the
meat.

*He takes him by the hand into the lounge*

Monty:
You shouldn't treat each other so badly. He's been working his fingers to the
bone and all you do is sit in here drinking. Now, he's going to revitalize
himself in here while you finish the vegtables.

Withnail:
I don't know how to do them.

Monty:
Well of course you don't. You're incapable of indulging in anything but
pleasure am I not right?

*Marwood merely smiles*

Monty:
You don't deserve such loyalty. Now come along, I'm going to teach you how to
peel a potato.

*He rolls up Withnail's sleeves and takes him unwillingly into the kitchen.
Withnail swipes a glass of sherry off the table on the way there.*

***********************

The dinner table

*All three are sat around the table eating a good looking roast dinner. There
is plenty of extra meat and a good supply of wine.*

Monty:
It's very stimulating getting back to a basic sort of lifestyle. Without
effecened emotion and poisonous inhibition.

Marwood:
Except the problem do tend to take the edge off it.

Monty:
What do you mean?

Marwood:
There are no proper facilities.

Monty:
All the glorious trials of youth dear boy. When I was a lad I'd rocket off on
my tandem with Wrigglesworth and ride and ride. Find some old barn and fall
asleep with the sweet perfume of hay on our lips.

Withnail:
Would it be in poor form to plagarise a toast?

Monty:
It depend entirely on the quality of the wine. In this case, it most
certainly would not.

Withnail:
In that case, to a delightful weekend in the country.

Monty:
Oooh, we were expecting a volley of argument concerning Mr Redgrave.

*Marwood gives Withnail a look of daggers*

Marwood:
You're forgetting Jake.

Monty:
Jake can wait too.

Marwood:
Jake's not a friend Monte. I'd hoped to avoid telling you this, but there's a
madman on the loose outside.

Monty:
Is this true?

Withnail:
Well, there's this local type. Poacher. We got into a bit of a tiff and he
threatened me with a dead fish. Yes, it was rather amusing acutally. When you
came into the house we thought it was him and we thought that you cleaning
your boots was him sharpening the knife.

Monty:
Oh, how delicious!

Marwood:
I'm going for a walk.

Monty:
Oh, wait for us dear boy, we'll all go.

**********************

Outside the cottage

*Marwood is leaning on the wall. Withnail emerges and walks briskly over to
him*

Withnail:
Look, I know what your thinking but I had no alternative. The old beggers
come a long way and I didn't want to put the wind up him.

Marwood:
You sensitivity overwhelms me. If you think you're having a weekends
indulgence up here at his expense, which means him having a weekends
induldgence up here at my expense you've got another thing coming.

Withnail:
Anyway, he sent me out to say the coffee's ready.

Marwood:
I couldn't drink it. I've got a crick in my mouth from grinning.

Withnail:
Well stop smilling at him.

Marwood:
I can't help it, I'm so uptight with him.

**********************

The hillside.

*Thet are walking through thick bracken listening to Monte expound on Oxford.*

Monty:
Longtemps, longtemps de teau cheveux. Oh, Bodelair. Brings back such memories
of Oxford.

Marwood (voice over):
Followed by yet another anecdote about his sensitive crimes in a punt with a
chap called Norman who had red hair and a poetry book stained with the butter
drips from crumpets.

Monty:
Indeed I often wonder where Norman is now. Probably wintering with his mother
in Guilford, a cat, rain, vim under the sink and both bars on. But old now,
there is no true beauty without decay.

Withnail:
Legium pro Britania.

Monty:
How right you are, how right you are. We live in a kingdom of reigns where
royalty comes in gangs. Come on lads, the sky's bruising, night must fall and
we shall be forced to camp.

Marwood:
He's having my room. I want the room with the lock. Agree to that or I'm off.

Withnail:
Alright, alright.

*They stride off back to the cottage. Before they get there, they see Jake at
the door. Monte looks at him through the binoculars*

Marwood:
Good old Jake eh? And that's precisely the reason I'm off back to London.
Come on, lets pack up and get off. Good old Jake, eh Withnail. Lets all have
a laugh. Good old Jake.

Monty:
He's going away.

*They walk down to the cottage. There is a hare tied to the door with a note
attached. Withnail unfolds the note and hands it to Monte. Monty clearly has
some difficulty in reading the note.*

Monty:
Here hare here.

*The meaning dawns on him.*

Monty:
Here hare here!

Withnail:
Good old Jake.

**********************

The cottage.

*They are playing poker with bottle tops and a few coins. An old gramaphone is
plaing in the background. The game is stud with two down cards - Monty has the
ace of spades and two small spades showing, Marwood just queen high*

Monty:
Ace bets two and it's over to you.

Withnail:
You two and up two.

Marwood:
So that's four?

Monty:
That's four.

*Marwood puts in four. Monty deals the last set of cards.*

Monty:
?

Withnail:
Denai surenum defit.

*He deals another queen to Marwood*

Monty:
Oh, there she is.

*He deals himself another spade*

Monty:
A possible flush. Well, it's the two queens to bet!

*Still at the table, Monty winds up the gramaphone.*

Monty:
Another hand?

*Withnail looks up and slumps in his chair. He is totally plastered.*

Monty:
I think we'd better get him to bed.

Marwood:
No, he's down here. You're in my room, I'm in his room and he's down here.

Monty:
I wouldn't dream of depriving the poor fellow of his bed. Particularlly in
that condition.

Marwood:
It's what he wants!

Withnail:
No I don't I want to get to bed!

Marwood:
Come on then luvy, lets get you to bed then. A good nights sleep will do us
both some good.

*He grabs Withnail under the arms and manouvers him out of the room.*

Marwood:
We'll I'll say good night then Monty.

Withnail:
I want to be alone.

*Marwood staggers up the stairs with Withnail who mumers about wanting to be
on his own. He drops him on the bed and dashes back to his own room to get his
bedding. Before he can get back though Monty has come up the stairs and just
finished locking the door.*

Monty:
He doesn't want to sleep with you.

Marwood:
Right then, You're in there and I'll take the couch. I'll say night night then
Monty.

Monty:
You already have. Twice!

*Downstairs I frantically aranges the blankets on the sofa. Monty enters*

Marwood:
What is it Monty, I'm terribly tired I need to get to bed.

Monty:
But not that tired eh? Are you a sponge or a stone?

Marwood:
I beg you pardon Monty?

Monty:
Do you like to sample all facets of life or do you shut yourself off from new
experience.

Marwood:
I voted conservative.

Monty:
Loyalty isn't a matter of selection.

Marwood:
I quite agree, it's more a matter of chosing to whom one is loyal. I'm
terribly tired Monty, I need to get to bed.

Monty:
You must mustn't you. Off you go then. I'll sleep down here. It won't be the
first time I've been left with the couch!

*Marwood is in bed. He has barricaded the door by propping a chair against the
knob. There is a determined pushing at the door from the other side which
dislodges the chair and Monty enters.*

Monty:
Boy! Boy! I know you're not asleep boy. But he is. I've been into his room. He
won't hear a thing.

Marwood:
No I'm not asleep. What is it Monty, what do you want.

*Marwood lights a candle. Monty sits down on the side on the bed.*

Monty:
I tried not to come, oh how I tried not to.

Marwood:
There's something I've got to tell you Monty.

Monty:
There's no need to explain, he's told me everything.

Marwood:
What! What's he told you?

Monty:
About how you came to Chelsea and you arrest in the Totenham Court Road. He
told me about your problems, how you feel.

Marwood:
Problems, what problems?

Monty:
You are a toilet trader! Go with it boy, give into to it. It's like a tide.
Don't let it ruin your youth as I nearly did over Eric.

Marwood:
I'm not homosexual Monty.

Monty:
Yes you are! Of course you are! You're only saying that to deny your
relationship with him. It's not his fault that he can't love you any more that
it's mine that I adore you. Can't we allow ourselves this one moment of
indiscretion? He need never know.

Marwood:
I don't care what he knows, you must leave Monty.

*Marwood gets out of bed and goes over to the door. Monty beats him to it.*

Monty:
I mean to have you even if it must be burgulary.

*Marwood races to the other side of the room. Monty advances.*

Marwood:
Monty you must listen! We're in an affair, we have been for years. But he's
estranged, he won't allow himself to admit it. That's why he's rejecting me
while you're here. On my life Monty, this is the first time in six years we
havn't slept together. I couldn't cheat on him, it would kill him.

Monty:
Oh my dear boy, if I'd realised that I'd never have attempted to come between
you.

Marwood:
I know that Monty, I respected you for your sensitivity, I thank you for it.

Monty:
You better go to him.

Marwood:
Oh, I intend to. This instant.

Withnail's room

*Withnail is asleep in bed with the shotgun. Marwood enters*

Marwood:
Withnail you bastard wake up. Wake up you bastard before I burn this bastard
bed down.

Withnail:
I deny all accusations. What do you want?

Marwood:
I've just narrowly avoided having a buggery. And I've come in here with the
express intention of wishing one on you. That said, I'm leaving for London.

Withnail:
Hold on, hold on. Don't let you imagination run away with you.

*He light up and coughs up some phlegm*

Marwood:
I've just finished fighting a naked man. How dare you tell him I'm a toilet
trader!

Withnail:
Tatical necessity. If I hadn't told him you were active we'd never have got
the cottage.

Marwood:
I wouldn't have wanted it, not with him in it.

Withnail:
I never thought he'd come all this way.

Marwood:
Monty!? He'd go to New York.

Withnail:
Calcualted risk.

Marwood:
What is all this calculated risk and tactical necessity. It's me, naked, in a
corner. And how dare you tell him I love you? And how dare you tell him you
rejected me? How dare you tell him that!?

Withnail:
Sorry about that, got a bit carried away. Sort of said it without thinking.

*Marwood takes the gun*

Marwood:
Well let me tell you something Withnail, if he comes in my room again its
murder and you'll be held resposible in law.

The cottage

*Withnail is eating lunch at the table. Marwood is reading a note*

Marwood:
'Perhaps it is just that the evesdropper should leave as his trade dictates,
in secrecy and in the dead of night. I do sincerely hope that you will find
the happiness that has sadly always been denied me. Yours faithfully, Montegue
H Withnail.' Poor old bastard.

Withnail:
Now I must say, that represents a level of hippocrasy in you that I'd
previously suspected but not noticed due to highly evasive skills.

Marwood:
You'll suffer for this Withnail. What you have done will have to be paid for.

Withnail:
I'll say one thing for Monte; he keeps a sensational cellar.

*There is a knock at the door.*

Marwood:
Who is it.

Voice:
Telegram.

*Marwood gets the telegram and opens it. He shows it to Withnail*

Withnail:
Well done.

Marwood:
Well it doesn't mean to say I've got the part. They probably just want to see
me again. Well, that settles it, we leave immediately.

Withnail:
What!?

Marwood:
Get you stuff together, we leave in half an hour.

Withnail:
Don't be ridiculous, I need at least an hour for lunch.

The car

*Withnail is eating the lunch from a plate on his knee. It is raining heavily
and Marwood's side of the windscreen is impossible to see through*

Withnail:
You got a truck coming up in this lane followed by a slow right-hander.

Marwood:
This is insanity.

Withnail:
Stay in this lane.

Marwood:
What lane, I can't see any lane.

Withnail:
Bear right, bear right.

Marwood:
I can't keep this up. And I must get some sleep.

The car

*It is daytime again, and the rain has stopped.Marwood is asleep in the back
on the car. The car jerks around and he woken. As he looks out the window, the
camera moves with his view. The car is hurtling down the motorway swerving
between the other cars.*

Marwood:
What's going on?

Withnail:
I'm making time.

Marwood:
Pull over, you haven't got a license.

Withnail:
No, I'm making time. Here comes another fucker.

*They swerve infront of several more cars. Then Marwood sees a police van
behind them.*

Marwood:
On no.

Withnail:
It's perfectly alright, leave him to me.

Marwood:
You're full of scotch you silly tool.

*The police van comes along side them and a policeman leans out pointing
markedly to the roadside. Withnail pulls over, the van draws up in front on
them and the officers approach the car. One knocks on the window and Withnail
winds it down.*

P1:
Bit early in the morning for festivities isn't it sir?

*There is a large pile of bottles on the passenger seat of the car*

Withnail:
They're not mine, they belong to him.

P1:
You're drunk.

Withnail:
I assure you I'm not officer, I've only had a few ales.

P1:
Out of the car. Please. Sir.

*Withnail makes no move so he opens the door. Withnail virtually falls out
then stands against the car. The policeman offers him a breathaliser*

P1:
Would you fill this bag please sir.

*Withnail shakes his head*

P1:
Are you refusing to fill this bag?

Withnail:
I most certainly am.

P1:
I'm placing you under arrest.

Withnail:
Don't be ridiculous I haven't done anything. Listen, my cousin's a QC.

P2:
Get in the back of the van!

Police station

*Withnail is behind a screen. A sergant is sat at a desk while other policemen
wonder around*

P3:
Serg, what's that clown up to?

*The sergent pulls a gap in the screen and sees withnail with the contraption
Danny gave him. He grabs the tube and urine splashes everywhere. Withnail
grins sheepishly*

The flat

*Withnail and Marwood enter their flat. They look through the post*

Withnail:
Where's our checks?

Marwood:
We didn't sign on.

Withnail:
That wouldn't make any difference to last weeks payments.

*They hear music from upstairs. The door to the bathroom is ajar and in the
bath is a large black man who looks at them inquiringly. I looks in his
bedroom. The bed is occupied by Danny*

Marwood:
What are you doing in my bed?

Danny:
Having a sleep.

Marwood:
Who's the huge spade in the bath?

Danny:
Presuming Ed.

Marwood:
Well I want you out. You've got ten minutes alright? Coz I want to get in.

The lounge

*All four are sat in the lounge*

Withnail:
How did you get in?

Danny:
Inginuity man - come up the drainpipe. Would you like a smoke?

Withnail:
Yes.

Marwood:
No thanks, I've got a call to make.

*Danny starts pulling out rizzlas at a prolific rate*

Withnail:
What are you going to do with those?

Danny:
The joint I am about to roll requires a craftsman and can utalise up to twelve
spliffs. It is called a Camberwell Carrot.

Marwood:
It's imposible to use twelve papers on one joint.

Danny:
It is impossible to roll a Camberwell Carrot with anything less.

Withnail:
Who says it's a Camberwell Carrot.

Danny:
I do. I invented it in Camberwell and it's shaped like a carrot.

*Cut to Danny on the sofa. The Camberwell carrot is complete and is indeed of
prodidiuos proportions. As Danny lights it we see only the end but as he hands
it to Withnail we see the true size. It is enormous.*

Danny:
These will tend to make you very high.

*Withnail takes a long draw*

Danny:
This grass is the most powerfull in the western hemisphere. It grows at
exactly two thousand feet above sea-level. I have it special flown in from my
man in Mexico. His name's Huang. He's an expert.

*I returns from his phone call*

Danny:
Did you get the part man?

*Marwood takes a draw on the joint and splutters. He shakes his head*

Marwood:
No, I got a different one. They want me to play the lead.

Withnail:
Congratulations.

Danny:
Where exactly have you two been?

Marwood:
A trip to the countryside.

Danny:
That is a very good idea. London is a city coming down from its trip and
there's going to be a lot of refugees.

*Presuming Ed laughs deeply*

Danny:
Did you realise this gafs overrun with rodents? When I came in I saw one in
the oven the size of a fucking dog.

Marwood:
That is a dog, belongs to the man downstairs.

Danny:
Does his dog get in the oven.

Withnail:
No his dog doesn't come up here.

Danny:
Then it was a rodent. Quite freaked me at the time. I was going to cook onions.
There was some bald gieser round here the other day reckoned you owed him two
hundred and thirty five quid backrent. I told him there was no question of
paying rent on a property infested with rodent. Started coming on all bald
with me.

Withnail:
You mean ratty.

Danny:
I told him to piss off.

Marwood:
You bloody fool. He'll have us up in court again.

Danny:
No he won't, it's not legal.

Withnail:
We can quote you on that I presume.

Danny:
Law rather appeals to me actually.

*Withnail laughs uncontrolably and drops to the floor*

Danny:
Just high.

Marwood:
Stop laughing will you Withnail, this is serious.

Danny:
No it ain't. I looked into it. Studied the papers.

Marwood:
What papers?

Danny:
Legal papers.

*He shakes the papers out of a bag*

Marwood:
Look, he's got our checks. What are you doing with these?

Danny:
I was going to pay them in for you.

Marwood:
For Christ'd sake Withnail, stop laughing will you. Look, this is a notice of
eviction.

Withnail:
Give it to my barrister.

*Presuming Ed starts chanting and rotating a globe*

Ed:
Harriramma, Hariramma.

Marwood:
Shup up will you, you're giving me the fear! Give us a downer Danny, I've gone
and fucked my brain.

Danny:
Sit down man, take control. You have a rush. It will pass.

Marwood:
Aren't you getting absurdly high?

Danny:
Precisely the reason I'm smoking it.

Withnail:
I couldn't I'm spaced.

Danny:
Not as spaced as you rodents.

Marwood:
Don't talk about them.

Danny:
I expect they're talking to each other.

Marwood:
Talking to each other? What do you mean?

Danny:
I've dealt with them. Given 'em all drugged onion.

Marwood:
Why've you drugged their onions!?

Danny:
Sit down man, find your neutral space. You have done something to your brain.
You have made it high. If I lay ten mills of diazipan on you, you will do
something else to your brain, you will make it low. Why trust one drug rather
than the other. That politics ain't it.

Marwood:
I'm going to eat some sugar.

Danny:
I recommend you smoke some more grass.

Marwood:
No way, no fucking way.

Danny:
That is an unfortunate political decission.

Withnail:
What are you talking about Danny?

Danny:
If you are holding onto a rising balloon you are presented with a difficult
political decission - let go while you've still got the chance or hold onto
the rope and continue getting higher. That's politics man. We are at the end
of an age. The greatest decade in the history of mankind is nearly over.
They're selling hippy wigs in Woolworths. It is ninety one days to the end of
the decade and as Presuming Ed here has so consistently pointed out, we have
failed to paint it black.

The flat

Marwood:
Right, I'm off now.

Withnail:
Already?

Marwood:
My father will pick up my stuff in the week and do something about the car.

Withnail:
But I've got us a bottle open. Confiscated it from Monte's supplies. Fifety
three Margaux. Best of the century.

Marwood:
I can't Withnail, I'll miss the train.

Withnail:
There's always time for a drink.

Marwood:
I haven't the time.

Withnail:
Alright, I'll walk with you to the station. We can drink it through the park.

*He grabs his coat and an umbrella and takes the bottle.*

The Park

*It is pouring down with rain. Withnail offer the bottle to Marwood*

Marwood:
No thankyou, no more. Look, it's a stinker Withnail, why don't you go home.

Withnail:
Because I want to walk you to the station.

Marwood:
No, really, I really don't want you to.

*They stop by the wolves.*

Marwood:
I shall miss you Withnail.

Withnail:
I'll miss you too.

*Marwood departs. Withnail walks to the fence and leans against it.*

Withnail:
I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth and indeed it goes
so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a
sterile promotory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this mighty
o'rehanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire; why, it
appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What
a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, how
like an angel in aprehension, how like a God! The beauty of the world,
paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dusk. Man
delights not me, no, nor women neither, nor women neither.

*The wolves are unimpressed. Withnail exits into the rain.*