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gri_2003_m_46_b06_f05_029

Transcribers

  1. 72171175 - Preacher357
  2. 72386686 - Zooniverse2017
  3. 72597923 - jesseytucker
  4. 72732073 - Eloquens
  5. 73088240 - jozee
  6. WINNER - 73766443 - RommelC

72171175 - Preacher357

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing
shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at
business: stall-keeper with customer; inn-keeper
in apron; gothic spiv with suitcase of nylons;
travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads,
'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine. Re-
duced fares for parties'. Enter town-crier: crowd
pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky.
He uses a throat spray.)
Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER
reads:
By Royale Exclamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-
one shillings) in the (pound).
Signed. The High and Left
Royale Monarch of Nosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd restless and hostile. Cut
to individual reactions in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again.

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used ot play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink, and
pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
If what I ought to spend on my back - goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly):
My new little number from Jacques Fath. They
wouldn't tax that!
ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barons,
Greyhounds and falcons.

72386686 - Zooniverse2017

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing
shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at
business: stall-keeper with customer; inn-keeper
in apron; gothic spiv with suitcase of nylons;
travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads,
'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine. Re-
suced fares for parties'. Enter town-crier: crowd
pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky.
He uses a threat spray.)
Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER
reads:

My Royale Exlamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-
one shillings) in the lb (pound).
Signed. The Right and Left
Royale Monarch of Mosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd restless and hesitant. Out
to individual reactions in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again.

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink and
pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
If what I ought to spend on my back - goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly):
My new little number from Jacques Fath. They
wouldn't tax that!

ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barens,
Greyhounds and falcons.

72597923 - jesseytucker

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing
shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at
business: stall-keeper with customer; inn-keeper
in apron; gothic spiv with suitcase of nylons;
travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads,
'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine. Re-
duced fares for parties'. Enter town-crier: crowd
pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky.
He uses a throat spray.)
Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER
reads:

By Royale Exclamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-
one shillings) in the (pound).
Signed. The Right and Left
Royale Monarch of Mosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd restless and hostile. Out
to individual reactions in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again..

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink, and pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
If what I ought to send on my back--goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly):
My new little number from Jacques Fath. They
wouldn't tax that!

ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barons,
Greyhounds and falcons.

72732073 - Eloquens

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing
shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at
business: stall-keeper with customer: inn-keeper
in apron; gothic spiv with suitcase of nylons;
travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads,
'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine, Re-
duced fares for parties'. Enter town-crier: crowd
pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky .
He uses a throat spray . )
Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER
reads:
By Royale Exclamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-
one shillings) in the lb (pound).
Signed. The Right and Left
Royale Monarch of Mosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd restless and hostile. Out
to individual reactions in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again.

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink, and pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
If what I ought to spend on my back - goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly):
My new little number from Jacques Fath. They wouldn't tax that:
ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barons,
Greyhounds and falcons.

73088240 - jozee

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at business: stall-keeper with customer; inn-keeper in apron; gothic spy with suitcase of nylons; travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads, 'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine. Re-duced fares for parties'. Enter the town-crier: crowd pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky. He uses a throat spray.)
Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER reads:

By Royal Exclamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-one shillings) in the (pound).
Signed. The Right and Left
Royale Monarch of Nosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd is restless and hostile. Cut to individual reactions in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN THE CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again.

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink, and pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man? If what I ought to spend on my back - goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly): My new little number from Jacques Fath. They wouldn't tax that!

ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barons,
Greyhounds and falcons.

WINNER - 73766443 - RommelC

Ornamental map of the country. Fade to establishing shots of medieval-modern market place. Crowd at business: stall-keeper with customer; inn-keepr in apron; gothic spiv with suitcase of nylons; travel-agent outside office by a notice that reads, 'Come to Camelot. Tournaments in the Sunshine. Reduced fares for parties'. Enter town-crier: crowd pauses and watches him suspiciously.

TOWN-CRIER: Oyez, oyez, oyez. (His voice is very husky. He uses a throat spray.) Now get this, now get this.

He fixes poster. Crowd surges forward. The POSTER reads:

By Royale Exclamationne:
Through the Graciousness of his
Good Gracious Majesty, INCOME TAX
is hereby raised to 21s. (twenty-
one shillings) in the pound.
Signed. The Right and Left
Royale Monarch of Nosdar.

Camera tracks back: crowd restless and hostile. Cut to individual reactons in the crowd.

BLUES

MAN IN CROWD: How can I settle with that tax collector man?
How can I settle with that tax collector man?
If I sell my bed to pay, I'll never sleep again.

INN KEEPER: I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
I got a fine place, where the town used to play.
But now whose got the money, to eat and drink, and pay?

YOUNG GIRL: How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
How shall I get my hose, how shall I keep my man?
If what I ought to spend on my back- goes into tax?

SOCIETY WOMAN (suddenly):
My new little number from Jacques Fath. They wouldn't tax that!

ALL: Everything. The lot. Everything you got.
Nothing you have is tax free.
All you touch will cost you plenty.
They're gonna tax:
The most simple wimple,
The chantry chapel,
The serfs and barons,
Greyhounds and falcons.





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