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?
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 William Thatcher.
Roland: If they find out there’ll be the devil to pay.
William: Then pray that they don’t.
Wat: I think he’s getting worse.
Roland: He is getting worse.