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.
Wat: You have been weighed.
Chaucer: You're good. You're very good. My lords, my ladies, and everybody else here not sitting on a cushion!
Chaucer: Today... today, you find yourselves equals.
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.
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!
Chaucer: Thank you,
thank you, I'll be here all week.
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]
Edward: He may appear to be of humble origins, but my personal historians have discovered that he is descendent from an ancient royal line.
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.
Prince Edward: [silencing crowd] Arise... Sir William. Can you joust?
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.
[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?
Adhemar: You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. In what world could you possibly beat me?
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
Prince Edward: Your men love you. If I knew nothing else about you, that would be enough.
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.
William: Oi sir, what are you doing?
Chaucer: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging?
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?
[laughs] Funny really, yes, but at the same time a huge resounding no. It's more of an... involuntary vow of poverty... really.
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.
Kate: It is romantic though.
Roland: Are you a woman or a blacksmith?
Kate: Sometimes I'm both.
Chaucer: I will eviscerate you in fiction. Every pimple, every character flaw. I was naked for a day; you will be naked for eternity.
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]
Chaucer: Very good.
William: Was she watching? Geoff.
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.
was she concerned?
Chaucer: It was dreadful, her eyes welled up, it was awful.
Chaucer: There she is, William. The embodiment of love. Your Venus.
William: And how I hate her.