Queen:
My Lord, 'tis spoken of thee here in court
That thou hast shown a grievous lack of mercy
In that thou wilt not pardon noble Flatus.
For my part, I were liefer wed to one
That suffered not the general censure, but
Maintained a goodly popularity.
Lord, do reverse thy judgment! Spare good Flatus!
What? Is the letting go of sundry stinks,
Those bellowing or whisp'ring belly- blows,
Unpardonable? Flatus so reprobate
As to deserve no opportunity
To seek redemption? Hast my Lord no heart?
Speak, King, my husband, wherefore art thou mute?
Wilt speak? What sayst thou? Nay, wilt thou not speak?
My lord...(She elboweth King in ribcage)
King:
Lay off thy elbow, woman! Fie!
I feel a jumbling in my lauded midden
That tokens many an immanent relief.
Fool! Fool! Bring us our regal chamberpot!
Where is that jangling jack? (He looketh about) Ah, there he is!
I see his motley rags behind the arras!
(Furious, but soft) He play'th upon that little bell again!
(Furiouser, and loudly) I say, If we do slip in that again
That he pulls from his lineaments yet again
And fall upon our tender parts again,
He's headless, and we pay another fool!
Certes, there ne'er hath been a famine of fools
From which to choose! (Loudlier) Fool! Fool!
Fool:
(Much motion behind the arras) I hear thee, Liege!
I'm coming! Aye! I'm coming! Aye, my Lord,
I've come, and now am coming. Here I come!
(Fool slinketh from out the arras) What is thy pleasure, Lord? I wait upon't.
King:
My pleasure, sirrah, is that thou goest fetch
Thy King our chamberpot, and pray, make haste!
Post-haste, sirrah, for an thou art not quick
Then bringeth not the useless chamberpot
But, Fool, a mop instead!
Fool:
As here's a fool,
A rascal, and a knave, I am most willing,
And will put fire upon my tinkling heels
And flick a wake of flame behind me! (Fool scampereth off)
Queen:
Lord,
an't please thee, I must take my leave, anon. (Queen buggereth off)
1998 (King:Ian McKellen;Queen:Liv Tyler;Fool:Robin Williams)
My Lord, 'tis spoken of thee here in court
That thou hast shown a grievous lack of mercy
In that thou wilt not pardon noble Flatus.
For my part, I were liefer wed to one
That suffered not the general censure, but
Maintained a goodly popularity.
Lord, do reverse thy judgment! Spare good Flatus!
What? Is the letting go of sundry stinks,
Those bellowing or whisp'ring belly- blows,
Unpardonable? Flatus so reprobate
As to deserve no opportunity
To seek redemption? Hast my Lord no heart?
Speak, King, my husband, wherefore art thou mute?
Wilt speak? What sayst thou? Nay, wilt thou not speak?
My lord...(She elboweth King in ribcage)
King:
Lay off thy elbow, woman! Fie!
I feel a jumbling in my lauded midden
That tokens many an immanent relief.
Fool! Fool! Bring us our regal chamberpot!
Where is that jangling jack? (He looketh about) Ah, there he is!
I see his motley rags behind the arras!
(Furious, but soft) He play'th upon that little bell again!
(Furiouser, and loudly) I say, If we do slip in that again
That he pulls from his lineaments yet again
And fall upon our tender parts again,
He's headless, and we pay another fool!
Certes, there ne'er hath been a famine of fools
From which to choose! (Loudlier) Fool! Fool!
Fool:
(Much motion behind the arras) I hear thee, Liege!
I'm coming! Aye! I'm coming! Aye, my Lord,
I've come, and now am coming. Here I come!
(Fool slinketh from out the arras) What is thy pleasure, Lord? I wait upon't.
King:
My pleasure, sirrah, is that thou goest fetch
Thy King our chamberpot, and pray, make haste!
Post-haste, sirrah, for an thou art not quick
Then bringeth not the useless chamberpot
But, Fool, a mop instead!
Fool:
As here's a fool,
A rascal, and a knave, I am most willing,
And will put fire upon my tinkling heels
And flick a wake of flame behind me! (Fool scampereth off)
Queen:
Lord,
an't please thee, I must take my leave, anon. (Queen buggereth off)
1998 (King:Ian McKellen;Queen:Liv Tyler;Fool:Robin Williams)
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