The Prince and the Pauper

Synopsis: On the same day two boys are born: the pauper Tom and prince Edward. As a kid, Tom sneaks into the palace garden and meets the prince. They change clothes with each other but the guards discover them and throw out the prince, since they are almost identical. Nobody believe them when they try to tell the truth. Soon after, the old king dies and the prince will inherit the throne. The evil earl of Hertford attempts to murder the prince to gain power for himself.
  1 nomination.
118 min

It's a boy!

A prince is born!

Long live the Prince of Wales!

Sit up and drink hearty.

The only cost of a tankard is that

it's drunk to His wee Royal Highness...

The Prince of Wales!

Long live His Royal Highness,

the Prince of Wales!


Milords and ladies...

I ask you to toast my son...

Edward Tudor.

One moment.

You drink too fast.

I advise you that as you drink,

you pray for your own sakes...

that my son be a good king.

Because good or bad, sickly or hale...

craven or brave, he will be King!

You drank sparingly, my good Norfolk.

Wine does not agree with me,

Your Majesty.

A pity.

Because losing one's head from wine...

is so much less permanent

than losing it from treason.

Surely, Your Majesty does not think me

guilty of that.

Not at all, my good Norfolk.

Merely capable of it.

- It's a boy, Henry.

- So I've been informed.

- You're glad?

- Very.

And grateful to you, madam...

not only for furnishing

the House of Tudor with an heir...

but also for freeing your King

from further necessity of your being.

Poor little thing.

Brought into this world to wear a crown

whether it fits him or not.

It shall weigh him down...

until he'll wish he'd been born

to the meanest pauper in London.

Poor little thing.

Poor nothing.

He's a healthy brat.

Healthy, is he?

You'd have an healthy son,

when all the time...

you know it's only the sickly ones

who can beg a farthing nowadays.

A prince was born tonight, too, little baby.

So go to sleep

and pretend the bells are for you.

Here he is. I think this cur ought to have

his head whacked off!

Boil him in oil, I says, Your Highness.

A good stewing is what he needs.

Let's give it to him.

- What has he done, my good lords?

- He won't play, that's what.

Let this miscreant kneel before me.

Down, you scurvy nipper.

Why don't you want to play, bumpkin?

'Cause I don't want to be boiled in oil.

It'd hurt.


Hold your tongue. He's right. It would hurt.

A good king is a merciful king.

I will show mercy.

If I make you one of my lords,

will you play?

Yes, I will.

I dub thee Sir Hawkins.


Absit invidia'

What's that?

It's Latin. And it means:

Let there be no malice.

Father Andrew taught it to me.

He'd do better to teach you

how to bring home a farthing.

I'll knock them royal ideas

out of your head!

You drooling beast,

I'll cuff your mouth and like it!

Now, then!

He's certainly thumping the King good.

Maybe that'll keep the tears in your eyes

long enough to beg a penny for food.

Now, be off with you!

May I come in?

But you are in.

Thomas, have you been crying?

No, sir. It's sweat.

You see, I've been running.

And how did you come by that?

Your father?

No, sir. My father wouldn't beat me.

He likes me.

I apologize.

Thank you.

Someday I'm going to discuss you

with your father.

No, I wouldn't, sir.

You see, he doesn't like to see anyone...

on account of he feels so badly

about me having to beg.

I thought maybe you'd let me read

some more out of that Latin book.

Of course.

The more you read,

the greater opportunity you'll have...

of escaping Offal Court when you grow up.

But you've read most everything,

and you're still in Offal Court, Father.

God's will and the whimsy of a king

are two things...

it isn't for ordinary people to understand,

I presume, Tom.

Why did His Majesty

turn you out of your house...

and take away your pension,

when you didn't do anything to him?

I'm afraid nowadays, the King

knows very little about his subjects.

Except those in his court...

who take great pains he shouldn't learn...

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Laird Doyle

Laird Doyle (1907–1936) was an American screenwriter. Doyle was under contract to Warner Brothers during the mid-1930s, before his sudden death at the age of twenty nine. One of his final films was the British comedy Strangers on Honeymoon. Some of his screenplay work was used posthumously, his last credited film being in 1947. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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    "The Prince and the Pauper" STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Apr. 2021. <>.

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