The Prince and the Pauper Page #3

You go wash your face. Over there.

Use the towel.

Penny, please. Please give me a penny.

Don't bother me, my lad.

Why, you look like me.

On the contrary, you look like me.

That's what I said, Your Highness.

We look alike.

- Do you know any games, boy?

- Yes, Your Highness, lots of them:

- Duck and drake, robber and constable.

- How do you play that?

It takes three to play it: A robber,

somebody to be robbed, and a constable.

You see, I rob you of something, hide it.

Then you tell the constable,

and he and you try to find it.

While you're looking for it, I hide.

Then you and he have to find me

to make the arrest, just as in real life.

- Good. I like that. We'll play it.

- But we have no constable.

I'll get my dog.

He'll be a marvelous constable.

He can find anybody

no matter where they hide.

Wait here. I'll get him.

- There he goes, running for it.

- After him.

If he gets away, you'll sweat for it.

Not so fast, me lad.

- Captain wants to pay his respects to you.

- Are you mad?

Do you want to lose your heads?

How dare you touch me!

Listen to that.

The Prince must have knighted him.

Now for your lesson,

you filthy little beggar.

Beggar? Are you insane?

I'm Prince Edward!

Make way for His Royal Highness,

the Prince of Pewy.

I'll have your blood for this,

and on my own sword.

Come back whenever you like. The Guard

prides itself on entertaining royalty.

Why wasn't His Highness

prepared for bed last night?

Because, Your Grace, he didn't ring.

Your Highness.

Where's the Prince?

The Prince?

Yes, the Prince.

Where is he?

But, Your Highness, you are the Prince.

Please, milords, I'm not the Prince.

He went out to get a constable.

I mean, his dog.

And he didn't come back.

I'm a beggar boy.

Don't behead me. Say you won't.

This is not the time for jesting,

Your Highness.

Indeed, it isn't, because I'm in a pickle.

It's all so muddled. The Prince will

have my head because I have his clothes.

If the King finds out,

he'll have me boiled in oil.

The Prince isn't here right now,

but I'm sure he'll come back.

Please, Your Highness,

discontinue this whimsy at our expense.

That's just it. I'm not your highness.

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...

to wash the name of Tudor

from the roll of kings.

Don't deceive yourselves.

I am not threatening you from the grave.

My power will be buried with my body...

and disintegrate as soon.

I'm threatening you

with your own weakness...

which I've nurtured for years.

Feeding one's greed with another's deceit.

Tolerating treachery.

Until, milords and ladies,

you've grown so corrupt...

that each could only conceal his guilt

in the shadow of the others.

Hence, your heads

remain on your shoulders...

only as long as

a Tudor sits on the throne...

to cloak your infamies from the people...

behind the purple robes of royalty.

The old dog dies...

and the lice daren't desert his pup...

lest they starve!

It is my will...

that my son, Edward...

shall succeed me to the throne.

And that his tutelage and counsel...

be entrusted...

to a Lord...

High...

to a Lord...

High Protector.

And that he...

be...

Your Majesty.

The Protector is to be who?

Who?

And now...

to face them...

all.

The King is dead.

Long live the King.

Let us pray.

The body which was Henry's...

will once again become with the earth

from which it was molded.

The soul we relegate to God.

The reign, to his royal Majesty, Edward VI.

Can I go home now, please?

Permit me, Your Majesty.

Repeat after me,

and when you have finished...

strike my shoulder with your sword.

- Aren't your afraid it will cut you?

- With the flat of it, Your Majesty.

Repeat:
Let it be known

to all my subjects...

"Let it be known to all my subjects..."

- But I'm not the Prince.

...and throughout my realm...

"And throughout my realm..."

...that I hereby designate

the Earl of Hertford...

"That I hereby designate

the Earl of Hertford..."

...as my Lord High Protector, to direct...

with adult advice, my untried judgment.

"As my Lord High Protector,

to direct, with adult advice..."

- My untried judgment.

- "My untried judgment."

Death may have been on Norfolk's side,

but a brain was on ours.

But fortunately, an addled one.

I'm honored by your selection,

Your Majesty.

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