A Knight's Tale Page #2

Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer?

- A what?|- "A what?" A writer.

I write with ink and parchment.|For a penny, I'll scribble anything.

Summonses, decrees, edicts,|warrants, patents of nobility.

I've been known to jot down|a poem, if the muse descends.

You probably read my book,|The Book of the Duchess.

Well, it was allegorical.

We won't hold it against you.|Each man decides that for himself.

Did you say patents of nobility?

That's right. I did.

And you gentlemen are?

I am Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein|from Gelderland.

These are my faithful squires,|Delves of Dodgington...

I'm Richard the Lionheart.|A pleasure.

No, I'm Charlemagne!|John the Baptist!

All right!

Hold your tongue, sir, or lose it.

Now you see that, I do believe...

...Sir Ulrich.

Thank you...

...Geoff.

Have you any more to say, Master Nude,|or may we be on our way?

- Off to the tournament?|- This is the road to Rouen.

That remains to be seen.|They're limiting the field at Rouen.

Noble birth must be established|for four generations on either side.

Patents of nobility must be provided.

Listen, clothe me...

...shoe me, for God's sake, feed me|and you'll have your patents.

No.

- Patents of nobility.|- We need him. We need him.

- Let me handle it.|- Be nice.

Nice, nice, nice.

All right.

Betray us and I will fong you|until your insides are out...

...your outsides are in and your|entrails are your extrails.

Pain.

Lots of pain.

I present Sir Ulrich, whose mother's|father was Shilhard von Rechberg...

...son of the Duke Guelph of Saxony,|son of Ghibellines, son of Wendish.

- Wendish inherited the fief--|- That'll do, herald.

Six generations is more than enough.|Show me the patents.

Indicate in which events|shall your Lord Ulrich compete.

He'll first meet Roger Lord Mortimer.

Thank you very much.

I can't believe it.|You did it, Chaucer.

I thank you. I didn't think|we had a chance.

My pleasure, William.

If you don't mind, I'll stick around.

Be my herald, you'll|get part of the winnings.

Done. Now if you don't mind,|I have to see a man about a dog.

Walking out from Cheapside

My fortunes for to seek

I passed along the River Thames

Its waters did they reek

'Twas there I met a pretty lass

She said her name was Nell

Bell or hell rhymes with Nell.

Would you speak to me?

Ah, to speak.

Sir, my sex are marked|by their silence.

I would hear you speak|if it cost me my ears.

That is well, for I do not|want silence in my life.

Tell me your name.

- Would you care if I were ugly?|- Yes!

I mean, no. I mean--

You desecrate the house of God!

Tell me your name.

And what would you do|with my name, Sir Hunter?

Call me a fox, for|that is all I am to you.

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