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After his master dies, a peasant squire, fueled by his desire for food and glory, creates a new identity for himself as a knight.
Chaucer: You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion! [crowd roars] Chaucer: Today... today, you find yourselves equals. [crowd roars] Chaucer: For you are all equally blessed. For I have the pride, the privilege, nay, the pleasure of introducing to you to a knight, sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking his forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishing of her dreadful Turkish uncle. [crowd, boo] Chaucer: In Greece he spent a year in silence just to better understand the sound of a whisper. And so without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the seeker of serenity, the protector of Italian virginity, the enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, Sir Ulllrrrich von Lichtenstein! [crowd roars] Chaucer: Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week.
Wat: You have been weighed. Roland: You have been measured. Kate: And you have absolutely... Chaucer: Been found wanting. William: Welcome to New World. God save you, if it is right that he should do so.
Kate: With hope. Love should end with hope. My husband, God rest him, told me something I'll never forget. [in a letter] Kate: Hope guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you.
[Keeping beat for a dance lesson] Chaucer: And one and two and three and four and your hands should be light like a birdie on a branch. And one and two and three and four and Wat doesn't lead he follows like a girl. [Wat punches him. Scene changes, and Chaucer now has a tissue stuck up one nostril] Chaucer: And one and two and twirlie twirlie twirlie! And one and two and you're still getting it wrong! And one and two and three and four you can hit me all day cause you punch like a... what? Roland: A girl!
Jocelyn: Better a silly girl with a flower than a silly boy with a horse and a stick. Wat: It's called a lance. Hello?
Wat: Uh, betray us, and I will fong you, until your insides are out, your outsides are in, your entrails will become your extrails I will w-rip... all the p... ung. Pain, lots of pain.
Prince Edward: [sighs] What a pair we make, huh? Both trying to hide who we are, both unable to do so. Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough. But you also tilt when you should withdraw... and that is knightly, too. Prince Edward: [to guards] Release him. [Edward turns to crowd] Prince Edward: He may appear to be of humble origins, but my personal historians have discovered that he is descendent from an ancient royal line. [crowd murmuring] Prince Edward: This is my word... and as such is beyond contestation. Prince Edward: [turns to William] Now, if I may repay the kindness you once showed me... take a knee. [draws his sword] Prince Edward: By the power vested in me by my father, King Edward, and by all the witnesses here, I dub thee Sir William. [crowd cheers] Prince Edward: [silencing crowd] Arise... Sir William. Can you joust? William: What? Prince Edward: There's my tournament to finish. Now, are you fit to compete, or shall the forfeit stand? William: No, I'm fit. Prince Edward: I shall have your opponent informed of it. You look for his shield in the lists... at once. William: Thank you, my lord.
Wat: I don't understand women. Chaucer: Nor do I. But they understand us. Well, maybe not you.
Kate: It is romantic though. Roland: Are you a woman or a blacksmith? Kate: Sometimes I'm both.
Wat: [in a letter] I miss you like the sun misses the flower. Like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to.
Chaucer: Yes, behold my lord Ulrich, the rock, the hard place, like a wind from Guilderland he sweeps by blown far from his homeland in search of glory and honor, we walk... in the garden of his turbulence! [crowd is silent, cricket noise] Roland: Yeah. Crowd: Yeahhhhh!
Jocelyn: Your name makes no matter to me, so long as I may call you my own. William: Oh, but I am your own, Jocelyn.
Prince Edward: Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough.
William: Oi sir, what are you doing? Chaucer: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? [pause] Chaucer: To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on. William: Uhhh... were you robbed? Chaucer: [laughs] Funny really, yes, but at the same time a huge resounding no. It's more of an... involuntary vow of poverty... really.
John Thatcher: Change your stars and live a better life than I have.
Chaucer: Good people, I missed my introduction. But please... Please I pray you, hear it now, for I would lay rest the grace in my tongue and speak plainly. Days like these are far too rare to cheapen with heavy handed words, and so, I'm afraid without any ado whatsoever... Excuse me My Lord... Here he is, one of your own, born a stone's throw from this very stadium, and here before you now, the son of John Thatcher... Sir Wiiiiiilliam Thatcheeer.
William: Father, I am afraid, I won't know the way back home. John Thatcher: Don't be foolish, William, you just follow your feet.
Adhemar: You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. In what world could you possibly beat me?
Roland, Chaucer, Kate, Wat: [singing] He's blond, he's pissed, he'll see you in the lists, Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein! He's blond, he's tanned, he comes from Gelderland, he comes from Gelderland! Gelderland, Gelderland, Gelderland... Gelderland, Gelderland, Gelderland...
William: Your name lady, I still need to hear it. Jocelyn: Sir hunter, you persist. William: Or perhaps angels have no names, only beautiful faces.
William: It is strange to think, I haven't seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to. I next compete in the city of Paris, I will find it empty and in the winter if you are not there. Hope guides me, that is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you're gone from my sight, it will not be the last time that I look upon you.
Chaucer: Very good. William: Was she watching? Geoff. Chaucer: What? William: Did she see me? Chaucer: Yes, she saw you. William: Did she see me take the hit? Chaucer: Yes, she saw you take the hit. William: Well, was she concerned? Chaucer: It was dreadful, her eyes welled up, it was awful.
Chaucer: Now I got their attention, you go and win their hearts.
Chaucer: There she is, William. The embodiment of love. Your Venus. William: And how I hate her.
William: Well then a fox you shall be until I find your name, my foxy lady.
Old Bishop: [after William rides into the cathedral on a horse to woo Jocelyn] Ladies! Does this not shock you? Jocelyn: [feigning sadness] I only laugh to keep from weeping. Old Bishop: I know, child. Pray that the years come quickly for you, taking your beauty so that you may better serve Him. Jocelyn: I do, every day. [raises hands to face] Jocelyn: God, why did you curse me with this face? Old Bishop: God has a plan we know not. [offers hand to Jocelyn to kiss] Jocelyn: [goes to kiss hand, but instead admires a costly ring on his finger] Oh, that is lovely...
Prince Edward: If I may repay the kindness you once showed me. Take a knee...
William: Leave, Roland. Let them have me. Roland: God love you, William. So do I.
Jocelyn: Damn your pride, William. It is you and only you that will not see you run. William: My pride is the only thing that they can't take from me. Jocelyn: They can take it away from you, they can and they will. Oh, they will. But love they cannot take.
William: I will not lose. Jocelyn: Then you do not love me.
Chaucer: It's a small target Will, but aim for his heart.
Chaucer: A bit higher. More toward the heavens. Kate: The moon at least. Her breasts aren't that impressive.
Chaucer: Are you mad? You knowingly endanger a member of the royal family? William: He knowingly endangers himself.
Roland: God love you, William. William: I know, I know. 'Cause no one else will.
Jocelyn: Run and I will run with you. William: I cannot run!
[Watching William practice jousting] Wat: I think he's getting worse. Roland: He is getting worse.
Chaucer: I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.
Jocelyn: Do not shush me, and spare him. Now be gone! Go!
Jocelyn: Sir Ulrick. What are you wearing to the ball tonight? William: Er... nothing... Jocelyn: Well, we shall cause a sensation, for I'll dress to match. William: [annoyed] Don't you ever get tired of putting on clothes? Chaucer: [whispers] I believe she was talking about taking them off, sir. Jocelyn: A flower is only as good as its petals. Don't you think? William: A flower is good for nothing. You can't eat a flower, a flower can't keep your warm... Jocelyn: And a rose never knocked a man off a horse either, did it? William: You're just a silly girl aren't you. Jocelyn: Better a silly girl with a flower, than a silly boy with a horse and a stick... [she walks away] Wat: It's called a lance. Heellooo?
Wat: We're the sons of peasants. Glory, and riches, and stars are beyond our grasps. But a full stomach, that dream can come true.
Roland: Well, that was different. Chaucer: Well, it's time we celebrate our differences. Roland: Just maybe not in public.
Wat: What do you mean, dead? Roland: The spark of his life is smothered in shite. His spirit is gone but his stench remains. Does that answer your question?
William: I'm Ulrich von Leichtenstein, from Guilderland, and these are my faithful squires. [gestures to Roland] William: Delves, of Dogington, [gestures to Wat] William: and Falhurst, of Crew. Chaucer: I'm Richard the Lionheart. Pleased to meet you. No, wait a minute, I'm Charlemagne. No, I'm Saint John the Baptist! [William draws a large knife] William: All right, hold your tongue sir, or lose it. Chaucer: Now you see *that* I do believe, Sir Ulrich.
Wat: Say something about her breasts. Roland: Yeah, you miss her breasts. William: Her breasts. Chaucer: Ye... yes, you... you could, umm... umm... but I... I would tend to look above her breasts, William. William: Well I... I miss her throat. Chaucer: Uh, still higher really, toward the heavens. Kate: The moon at least, her breasts were not that impressive.
William: [on asking Kate to mend his armour] It's just as well, they told me I was daft for even asking. Kate: Who? William: The other armourers. Kate: Did they say I couldn't do it because I'm a woman? William: No, they said you were great with horseshoes, but shite with armour. The fact that you were a woman wasn't even mentioned.
[Watching Joscelyn enter William's tent at night] Chaucer: Guinevere comes to Lancelot. [Turns away, smiling] Chaucer: Bed him well, my lady. Bed him well.
William: If I could ask God one thing, it would be to stop the moon. Stop the moon and make this night and your beauty last forever.
William: Love has given me wings so I must fly.
Wat: We're English, Geoff! We know who he is!
William: You favour cathedrals. Jocelyn: I come for confession. And the glass... a riot of color in a dreary, grey world.
William: I've waited my whole life for this moment. Wat: You've waited your whole life for Sir Ector to shite himself to death?
William: I can't explain it. She makes me feel like a poet. Roland: Well you may feel like a poet, but you sound like an idiot. You don't even know her name.
Chaucer: Oh my giddy aunt.
Roland: What are you doing? William: Losing. Roland: I don't understand! William: Neither do I.
Adhemar: You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. Come back when you're worthy.
Chaucer: [singing] He's quick, he's funny, he makes me lots of money, Lichtenstein! Lichtenstein!
[trying to convince the squires to bet that William will win, when they believe the French knight will win] French Squire: An Englishman will not win this French tournament. English legs are unsteady on French soil. French Squire: And because French wine is too much for English bellies. French Squire: And most importantly, because the Pope himself is French. Roland: [finally gives in] Well, the Pope may be French, but Jesus is bloody English! You're on!
[final lines] Chaucer: All human activity lies within the artist's scope. [looks at Wat, pauses] Chaucer: Maybe not yours...
Young William Thacher: Some day, I'll be a knight. Man in Stocks: A Thachers son? A knight? You might as well try to change the stars! Young William Thacher: Can it be done father? Can a man change the stars? John Thatcher: Yes William. If he believes enough, a man can do anything.
Chaucer: I give the truth, scope!
Jocelyn: I love you. There is nothing else to do. Run and I will run with you.
Germaine: My Lord, the Count Adehmar, Son of Phillip DeVitry, son of Gilles... er... Master of the Free Companies, defender of his enormous manhood, a shining example of chivalry and champagne.
Roland: Well, Master Nude, having failed the test, have you any more to say?
William: It's not in me to withdraw. Prince Edward: No. Nor me. Though it happens.
[last lines] Roland, Chaucer, Kate: Your round!
William: For that I say my rosary to her and no-one else. Wat: Will, that's blasphemy.
William: Where will we live? In my hovel? With the pigs inside during the winter so they won't freeze? Jocelyn: Yes, William. With the pigs... The poor can marry for love... William: Oh Jocelyn, you speak of what you do not know... Jocelyn: William i beg you. Please, run... do it for love...
Chaucer: Geoffrey Chaucer's the name, writing's the game. [Turns away, turns back] Chaucer: Chaucer? Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer? Chaucer: A what? Chaucer: A wha- a what? A writer. You know, I write, with ink and parchment. For a penny I'll scribble you anything you want. From summons, decrees, edicts, warrants, patence of nobility. I've even been know to jot down a poem or two if the muse descends. You've probably read my book? the Book of the Duchess? [They look at each other, shake their heads] Chaucer: Fine. Well, it was allegorical. Roland: Well, we won't hold that against you, that's for every man to decide for himself.
Adhemar: And you are? William: Well, I am, um. Adhemar: You've forgotten, or your name is Sir Um? William: Ulrich von Lichtenstein from Gelderland. Adhemar: Well, I'd forget as well, what a mouthful.
Adhemar: Why didn't Ulrich finished him? Jocelyn: He shows mercy. Adhemar: Then he shows his weakness - that is all mercy is.
William: This is a disaster. Roland: [staring at the tent material] Nah, I think it'll tunic up quite nicely.
Chaucer: Look, I have a gambling problem. I can't help myself. And these people will - quite literally - take off clothes of your back. William: What are you expecting us to do about it? Peter The Pardoner of Rouen: He assured us that you, his liege, would pay us. William: And who are you? Peter The Pardoner of Rouen: Peter, a humble pardoner and purveyor of religious relics. William: How much does he owe you? Simon The Summoner of Rouen: Ten gold florins. William: What would you do to him, if I was to refuse? Simon The Summoner of Rouen: We, on behalf of the Lord God, would take him of his flesh, so that he may understand that gambling is a sin.
Young William Thacher: Someday, I'll be a knight.
[first lines] William: Should we help him?
Wat: All right, I'm about this fonging close mate! I swear to God, Quaisimodo! I oughta...
Jocelyn: I demand poetry, and when I want it, and I want it now. William: Your breasts... they're beneath your throat.
Chaucer: We regret to inform your lady that my lord will not be attending... William: Herald, do not answer questions you do not know the answer to! Chaucer: Absolutely, my lord.
Jocelyn: Even the peasants can marry for love.
Old Bishop: You desecrate the House of God!
Kate: With hope, love should end with hope
Germaine: But this Lichtenstein... his technique, rudimentary... style, non-existent. Still, he's fearless.
William: I'll ride in his place. Roland: What's your name, William? I'm asking you William Thatcher, to answer me with your name? It's not Sir William. It's not count, or duke or earl William. It's certainly not King William. William: I'm aware of that. Roland: You have to be of noble birth to compete! William: A detail. The landscape is food. Do you want to eat or don't you? Roland: If the nobles find out who you are there'll be the devil to pay. William: Then pray that they don't.
William: Where will we live? In my hovel? With the pigs inside during the winter so they won't freeze? Jocelyn: Yes, William. With the pigs.
William: Can you keep a secret? [the lone girl nods] William: I was born in Cheapside, in that house over there. [points it out to the girl] Lone Girl in Cheapside: Really? I live just there. [points to the house across from it] William: Wait, how old are you? Lone Girl in Cheapside: Nine and one half, sir. William: Nine and one half. I wonder, can you remember a man, all though probably died just before you were born. He was as tall as a knight, his name was John Thatcher. Lone Girl in Cheapside: Well of course I remember him. William: You do? Lone Girl in Cheapside: Yeah, he lives there still. [William is shocked] Lone Girl in Cheapside: Sometimes you can see him looking from his window, though no ones know why. William: What do you mean? Lone Girl in Cheapside: He's blind, sir.
Adhemar: And how would you beat him? Fence: With a stick. While he slept. But on a horse, with a lance? That man is unbeatable.
Adhemar: Your armor, sir. William: What about it? Adhemar: How stylish of you to joust in an antique. You'll start a new fashion if you win. My grandfather will be able to wear his in public again, and a shield, how quaint. [William rides off] Adhemar: Some of these poor country knights, little better then peasants.
Peter The Pardoner of Rouen: He assured us that you, his liege, would pay us. William: And you are? Peter The Pardoner of Rouen: Peter. A humble Pardoner and purveyor of religious relics.
Roland: I can't explain it, she makes me feel like a poet. Well you may feel like a poet but you sound like an idiot.
Chaucer: Yes, Master Falhurst, I'm well aware a good fonging is on the way.
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