The Prince and the Pauper Page #6

I'm Tom Canty, a beggar boy,

and I wish I were at it now.

I'm afraid His Highness is ill.

Very ill.

- This will be a death blow to His Majesty.

- We mustn't tell him.

Please, Your Highness,

get up from your knees.

What would your father say if he saw you?

In here?

He'd say somebody boosted me

through a window.

'Tis true. His Majesty is gravely ailing.

That is God's will.

To inform him that his sins are to rule

and live after him...

in a daft boy, would be murder.

Neither alchemy nor prayer can cheat

death of His Majesty's soul much longer.

But England can be cheated

of a rightful king...

should His Majesty not proclaim his son...

and appoint a Lord Protector

before his death.

And who might that be?

One who might not forget

a favor done now.

What? Treason!

I talked to him last night,

and he was sane as a bishop.

I know, Your Majesty. I saw him then, too.

- 'Tis an evil miracle.

- You lie, I tell you!

I would I did, Your Majesty,

that you might be spared the proof.

Stop croaking! Fetch the boy!

Mad, they say.

Too much study.

Sane one minute...

Taken complete leave of his senses.

Doesn't even recognize anyone.

Your Majesty.

The King.

I am done for.

Come, my son.

Sit by me.

Let us talk, you and I.

But I'm not me.

I'm Tom Canty, Your Majesty. Sir.

Tom, sir.

Come, lad.

Would you deny that I am your father?

Yes, sire.

I wouldn't dare let anyone

think such a thing.

What envenomed irony fate has wrought.

He doesn't know his own father.

But I do, Your Majesty.

A thief he is and was sorely mean to me.

Please, don't behead me.

Please, let me go home.

You've done this, you pedantic fools.

Whipping his mind with Latin and Greek

till it's broken its halter and run wild.

Now take him, cure him,

amuse him, freshen him.

Teach him the good English oaths

of the hunting field.

Oaths that a man may use

in ruling a country.

Not the foreign prattle

of priests and scholars!

It shan't be long before you'll know me,

little Edward.

Please, Your Majesty.

I'm not Edward. I'm Tom.

These aren't even my clothes.

I'm a beggar boy.

They won't believe me.

Please tell them I'm not your little boy.

This, milords...

is my son...

who shall sit on the throne and rule.

If not by reason of his wit...

then by reason of the name of Tudor.

Summon the entire court

to the Throne Room.

And bid them...

hurry.

Milords and ladies.

In the past...

you have jealously kept

my bounty to yourselves.

But soon you'll be sharing it

with the worms.

And what is left will probably rattle...

in the posits of time.

England...

could not shed enough tears

to cleanse the name of Henry.

But I promise you...

neither can England shed enough blood...

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