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Lord of the Rings III - The Return of the King
Aragorn: Hold your ground, hold your ground! Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you: "stand, Men of the West!"
Elrond: You're outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more men.
Aragorn: There are none.
Elrond: There are those who dwell in the mountain.
Aragorn: Murderers. Traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one.
Elrond: They will answer to the king of Gondor.
Elrond: Anduril, Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.
Aragorn: Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil. The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.
Elrond: The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the ranger. Become who you were born to be. Take the Dimholt Road.
Aragorn: I give hope to men. I keep none for myself.
Gandalf: Get up. My Lord, there will be a time to greive for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming. The enemy is on your doorstep. As steward, you are charged with the defense of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word of Theoden of Rohan. Light the Beacons.
Denethor: You think you are wise, Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your right you would seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan. Oh, yes. Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I tell you now, I will not bow to this Ranger from the North, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship!
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Lord of the Rings II - The Two Towers
Galadriel: The power of the enemy is growing. Sauron will use his puppet Saruman to destroy the people of Rohan. Isengard has been unleashed. The Eye of Sauron now turns to Gondor, the last free kingdom of men. His war on this country will come swiftly. He senses the Ring is close. The strength of the Ringbearer is failing. In his heart, Frodo begins to understand. The quest will claim his life. You know this. You have foreseen it. It is the risk we all took. In the gathering dark, the will of the Ring grows strong. It works hard now to find its way back into the hands of men. Men, who are so easily seduced by its power. The young captain of Gondor has but to extend his hand, take the Ring for his own and the world will fall. It is close now, so close to achieving its goal. For Sauron will have dominion over all life on this Earth, even unto the ending of the world. The time of the elves is over. Do we leave Middle-Earth to its fate? Do we let them stand alone?
Elrond: If Aragorn survives this war, you will still be parted. If Sauron is defeated and Aragorn made king and all that you hope for comes true you will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality. Whether by the sword or the slow decay of time, Aragorn will die. And there will be no comfort for you, no comfort to ease the pain of his passing. He will come to death an image of the splendor of the kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world. But you, my daughter, you will linger on in darkness and in doubt as nightfall in winter that comes without a star. Here you will dwell bound to your grief under the fading trees until all the world is changed and the long years of your life are utterly spent.
GAMLING: Every villager able to wield a sword has been sent to the armory. My lord?
THÉODEN: Who am I, Gamling?
GAMLING: You are our king, sire.
THÉODEN: And do you trust your king?
GAMLING: Your men, my lord, will follow you to whatever end.
THÉODEN: To whatever end Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountains. Like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the west. Behind the hills, into shadow. How did it come to this?
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Monty Python's Flying Circus
Landlady: And this is the quiet one, Mr Bimmler - Heimlich Bimmler.
Himmler: How do you do there squire, also I am not Minehead lad but I in Peterborough, Lincolnshire was given birth to, but stay in Peterborough Lincolnshire house all during war, owing to nasty running sores, and was unable to go in the streets play football or go to Nürnberg. I am retired vindow cleaner and pacifist, without doing war crimes (hurriedly corrects himself) tch tch tch, and am glad England win World Cup - Bobby Charlton, Martin Peters - and eating lots of chips and fish and hole in the toads, and Dundee cakes on Piccadilly line. Don't you know old chap I was head of Gestapo for ten years. Five years! No, no, nein, I was not head of Gestapo at all...I make joke.
Landlady: Oooh, Mr Bimmler, you do have us on. (A telephone rings) Oh excuse me I must go and answer that. (leaves the room)
Johnson: How long are you down here for, Mr Hilter. Just the fortnight?
Hitler (shouting): Why do you ask that? Are you a spy or something? (drawing revolver) Get over there against the wall Britischer pig, you're going to die! Von Ribbentrop og Himmler grab Hitler and calm him.
Himmler: Take it easy Dickie old chum.
Von Ribbentrop: I'm sorry Mr. Johnson, he's a bit on edge. He hasn't slept since 1945.
Hitler: Shut your cake hole you Nazi.
Von Ribbentrop: Cool it Führer cat!
Himmler: Ha, ha, ha. (laughing it off) The fun we have.
Johnson: Haven't I seen him on the television?
Von Ribbentrop and Himmler: Nicht. Nein. Nein, oh no.
Johnson: Television Doctor?
Von Ribbentrop: No!!! No! The landlady enters.
Landlady: Telephone, Mr Hilter, it's that nice Mr McGoering from the Bell and Compasses. He says he's found a place where you can hire bombers by the hour.
Hitler: If he opens his big mouth again...it's lampshade time!
Von Ribbentrop (controlling Hitler and getting him towards the door): Shut up! (Hitler exits) Hire bombers by the hour, ha ha, what a laugh he is, that Scottish person. Good old Norman. (he exits)
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Macbeth
DUNCAN Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
Sergeant: Yes; As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorise another Golgotha, I cannot tell. But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Macbeth: [Aside.] The Prince of Cumberland!—That is a step, On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
MACBETH: If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: if the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch With his surcease success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust;
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off; And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other.
LADY MACBETH: The raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!'
Macbeth: I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep,"—the innocent sleep; Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast.
Lady Macbeth: What do you mean?
Macbeth: Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'
LADY MACBETH: Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,' Like the poor cat i' the adage?
MACBETH: Prithee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.
LADY MACBETH: What beast was't, then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
MACBETH: Why should I play the Roman fool, and die On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes Do better upon them.
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Monty Python and the Holy Grail
FRENCH GUARD: No chance, English bed-wetting types. I burst my pimples at you and call your door-opening request a silly thing, you tiny-brained wipers of other people's bottoms!
ARTHUR: If you do not open this door, we shall take this castle by force! [splat] In the name of God and the glory of our-- [splat]
FRENCH GUARDS: [laughing]
ARTHUR: Agh. Right! That settles it!
FRENCH GUARD: Yes, depart a lot at this time, and cut the approaching any more or we fire arrows at the tops of your heads and make castanets out of your testicles already! Ha ha haaa ha!
ARTHUR: Walk away. Just ignore them.
FRENCH GUARD: And now, remain gone, illegitimate-faced bugger-folk! And, if you think you got a nasty taunting this time, you ain't heard nothing yet, dappy English k-nnniggets! Thpppt!
FRENCH GUARDS: [taunting]
ARTHUR: We shall attack at once!
BEDEVERE: Yes, my liege!
ARTHUR: Stand by for attack!
Minstrel: Brave Sir Robin ran away...
Sir Robin: No!
Minstrel: bravely ran away away...
Sir Robin: I didn't!
Minstrel: When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled.
Sir Robin: I never did!
Minstrel: Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about, and valiantly, he chickened out.
Sir Robin: Oh, you liars!
Minstrel: Bravely taking to his feet, he beat a very brave retreat. A brave retreat by brave Sir Robin.
HEAD KNIGHT OF NI: Ni!
KNIGHTS OF NI: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
ARTHUR: Who are you?
HEAD KNIGHT: We are the Knights Who Say... 'Ni'!
RANDOM: Ni!
ARTHUR: No! Not the Knights Who Say 'Ni'!
HEAD KNIGHT: The same!
BEDEVERE: Who are they?
HEAD KNIGHT: We are the keepers of the sacred words: Ni, Peng, and Neee-wom!
RANDOM: Neee-wom!
ARTHUR: Those who hear them seldom live to tell the tale!
HEAD KNIGHT: The Knights Who Say 'Ni' demand a sacrifice!
ARTHUR: Knights of Ni, we are but simple travelers who seek the enchanter who lives beyond these woods.
HEAD KNIGHT: Ni!
KNIGHTS OF NI: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!...
ARTHUR: Ow! Ow! Ow! Agh!
HEAD KNIGHT: We shall say 'ni' again to you if you do not appease us.
ARTHUR: Well, what is it you want?
HEAD KNIGHT: We want... a shrubbery!
ARTHUR: A what?
KNIGHTS OF NI: Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!
ARTHUR and PARTY: Ow! Oh!
ARTHUR: Please, please! No more! We will find you a shrubbery.
HEAD KNIGHT: You must return here with a shrubbery or else you will never pass through this wood alive!
ARTHUR: O Knights of Ni, you are just and fair, and we will return with a shrubbery.
HEAD KNIGHT: One that looks nice.
ARTHUR: Of course.
HEAD KNIGHT: And not too expensive.
ARTHUR: Yes.
HEAD KNIGHT: Now... go!
King Arthur: I am your king.
Woman: Well I didn't vote for you.
King Arthur: You don't vote for kings.
Woman: Well how'd you become king then?
King Arthur: The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your king.
Dennis: Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
King Arthur: Consult the Book of Armaments.
Brother Maynard: Armaments, chapter two, verses nine through twenty-one.
Cleric: And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, "O Lord, bless this thy hand grenade, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the Lord did grin. And the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths, and carp and anchovies, and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit-bats and large chu...
Brother Maynard: Skip a bit, Brother...
Cleric: And the Lord spake, saying, "First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.
Brother Maynard: Amen.
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Richard III
GLOUCESTER: Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.
Gloster: Now, by Saint Paul, that news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consum'd his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. (...) He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live; Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter: What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
King Richard: [Reads.] "Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold, For Dickon thy master is bought and sold." A thing devised by the enemy.— Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls; Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.— What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? Remember whom you are to cope withal;— A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Britagnes, and base lackey peasants, Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other. And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, Long kept in Britagne at our mother's cost? A milk-sop, one that never in his life Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves: If we be conquered, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Britagnes, whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives, Ravish our daughters?—Hark! I hear their drum. [Drum afar off.] Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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