Enter Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Uhura.
KIRK
Odd’s blood! ‘Twas villainy most treacherous
That seized our hapless ship in its cruel grasp,
Transporting us to this forsaken spot
Where now our evil captors will appear.
SPOCK
From yonder valley comes the savage cry
Of wild beasts in search of tasty prey;
‘Tis logical that we shall all be eaten.
UHURA
A fate most fell! O Captain, I am vex’d!
Enter a Buxom Harlot.
HARLOT
Know this, strangers, that you have been here brought
To be devoured as a sacrifice
Required by the god whom all must serve.
KIRK
Indeed, and if thou art th’ devouring beast,
No man could count himself more fortunate.
I shall bravely essay to tame thee, wench!
SPOCK
A most unwise attempt, I must protest.
HARLOT
Behold! This is the heav’nly lord and king
To whom we owe our lives and loyalty.
Bow down before the fearsome pow’r so great!
KIRK
Madam, ’tis nothing but a vegetable!
HARLOT
Let not such vile blasphemy be heard;
This holy vine doth bear a fruit so pure
That any man who eats of it is healed
Of all his ailments and shall never die.
What better subject for our worshipping?
Yet if it be not fed with blood and bones
From strangers such as you, the vine will die.
McCOY
Indeed, the vine appears to suffer from
A lack of fertilizer in the soil.
Its leaves are turning brown, and no fruit grows.
SPOCK (to Kirk)
O, slay the foul wench, I do beseech.
She is a strumpet whose affections hold
Deception and a cruel, gory death.
KIRK (kissing Harlot)
What man would show such lack of chivalry?
All we must do is feed the vine, forsooth.
Any organic matter will suffice.
McCOY
This perilous adventure hath loos’ned my bowels;
I shall provide the needed excrement.
(McCoy drops his pants and squats over the holy vine)
UHURA
How now? What stench from yonder garden drifts?
My delicate lungs cannot bear th’ affront!
O, I die!
(Uhura swoons)
SPOCK
Doctor, I knew thou wert full of manure,
But this exceeds the bounds of all logic.
McCOY
What sayest thou? Dost thine own shit not stink?
Be off, thou villainous pointy-eared knave!
KIRK
Perhaps a farmer is thy proper calling?
McCOY
Nay, Jim, I am a doctor in all sooth,
And call me not a farmer, I implore.
KIRK (kissing Harlot again)
Do look, Madam, the vine hath now recover’d.
No sacrifice or tending doth it need,
And you may tend to me, my dear, instead.
Exit Kirk and Harlot.
SPOCK
Doctor, one favor must I ask of you;
When you go where no man has gone before,
I pray you, give me time to get upwind.
Exeunt.