The King has finished being attended to by Baker. Pitt has given him some papers.

KING   Push off, you fat turd.

BAKER   Yes, Your Majesty.

KING   What is this? (looking at the paper) America, I suppose.

PITT   No, sir.

KING   Oh, America is not to be spoken of, is that it?

PITT   For your own peace of mind, sir. But it is not America.
The King drops the paper. Pitt desperately gives him another. And another. The King takes no interest in them, dropping them or handing them to one of the pages.

KING   Peace of mind! I have no peace of mind. I have had no peace of mind since we lost America. Forests, old as the world itself, meadows, plains, strange delicate flowers, immense solitudes. And all nature new to art. All ours. Mine. Gone. A paradise lost.
Enter Fitzroy.

FITZROY   Her Majesty is waiting, sir.

PITT   I must ask you not to attend this concert, sir. You are not fit, sir.

KING   Not fit?

PITT   To be seen, sir.

KING   Not fit?

PAGES   Sharp. Sharp. The King, the King.

KING   Not fit?

PITT   Sir, I beg you. I beg you, sir.
Pitt loses all semblance of self-control and tries to prevent the King leaving the room, but he is restrained by his colleagues and the King strides into the concert in an extremely bad temper.

INT. WINDSOR. THE GREAT HALL. DUSK.

A fanfare as the King and Queen enter, the King quite plainly not fit to be seen, with stockings wrinkled and wig awry. The shock is seen on the faces of the court as the royal couple move to their seats. There is some craning of heads, some courtiers jumping on seats to try to catch a glimpse of this wreck.

KING   Not fit, not fit. I’ll give him not fit. Telling me! I’m the King, do you hear? The impudence. Well, I’m here now.
The King and Queen take their seats, but no sooner do they sit down than the King jumps up again and starts haranguing the orchestra.
Play, damn you. Play. Aha, remember this one? Louder, sirs, louder, lay it on, lads, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. Come on, boys, let’s hear you. Give it some stick. You, put your heart into it, sir.
He pushes the startled harpsichord player off his seat, sits down and starts playing.
All right, move over. My turn. Where are we? Oh, yes, I see. This is child’s play, man. Oh, this is my favourite bit. That’s how to do it, see. Come on, trumpets, give it some heart.

QUEEN   (coming up and whispering in the King’s ear) Sir, you are talking.

KING   I’m not, I’m playing.

QUEEN   But, sir …