By: Rose Lynn

QUEEN:

Sensitivity, sensitivity, I'm just loaded with that!

In this one word is the epitome of the aristocrat!

Sensitive soul and sensitive stomach, sensitive hands and feet…

This is the blessing, also the curse, of being the true elite.

Common people don't know what exquisite agony is, suffered by gentle people like me…

QUEEN: Sextimus! I won’t have you playing these foolish games and running around in the halls. It just isn’t

dignified. We are the rulers of this kingdom, and if we don’t set a proper example for the rest of the court, I’d like to know who will. I mean what’s the point of being a ruler if one isn’t going to behave as a ruler should?

The Royal Family

QUEEN:Do you mean to

ask me to believe that you

are a true princess of the royal blood?

QUEEN:And am I to actually understand that you have the nerve, and

the gall, and the presumption to apply for my son’s hand in

marriage?

QUEEN:Do you imagine for one moment

that I would even consider you

suitable for any son of mine?

QUEEN:You are laboring

under a very unfortunate

misapprehension my dear. My son isn’t

going to marry any moat swimmer!

QUEEN:And may I remind you, Sir Harry, that you are still one of my nights.

Step forward.

QUEEN:Jester! Jester!

Somebody stop him! Stop him, I

said. Oh there he goes down that corridor. Bring

him here to me! This is a fine

kettle of fish. Now you wretch I want the truth. What’s

all the noise about anyway? The moment I turn my back

something outrageous is

always going on in the corridors!

QUEEN:We must think of a test

that looks fair, and sounds fair, and seems

fair… and isn’t fair!

QUEEN:After all you’re a Wizard.

You should be able to think of something that’ll help that what’s-her-name to

sleep. Don’t forget to whip up a sleeping potion and some of that good heavy

incense. Oh, and that hypnotic mirror too!