PEPYS   I agree. I’ve always found the stool more eloquent than the pulse.
The surgeons prepare to amputate. Thurlow pushes the doctors towards the exit.

THURLOW   So what do you suggest?

PEPYS   An immediate purge.

THURLOW   Warren?

WARREN   He needs blistering. Blistering on the back to draw the humours from the brain; blistering on the legs to draw the humours to the lower extremities.
The patient howls, out of view.

BAKER   I agree, but he will never submit.

INT. WINDSOR. KING’S APARTMENTS. KING’S BEDROOM. DAY.

View of Braun’s legs coming into a room, seen from underneath the bed. The King’s hot face peering out.

BRAUN   Hello there, Georgie boy.
Warren, the pages, Fitzroy and Greville come in.

INT. WINDSOR. KING’S APARTMENTS. DRESSING ROOM. DAY.

Cut to elaborately bandaged King, bound to a bench, his arms pinioned to his side but his back and legs bare for blistering.

In desperation the King prays aloud as Braun heats the glass cups over the flame from a spirit burner.

KING   Not my skin, not my skin. Please. Oh, for pity’s sake. No. I am the Lord’s Anointed. ‘O God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit that we may perfectly love thee and worthily magnify Thy holy name. Through Christ our Lord. Almighty and most merciful Father … We have erred and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. Have mercy upon us, miserable offenders …’
Warren now takes the heated cups and applies them to the King’s back. The King screams in agony and Greville puts his hands over his ears. Fitzroy is unmoved and helps hold the King down.

INT. WINDSOR. QUEEN’S LODGINGS. DAY.

The Queen, in her distant apartment, hears the King’s screams.

KING   Do not touch me, I’m the King. Go tell the Queen I am assaulted. The Queen, the Queen, help!

EXT. WINDSOR. THE TERRACE. DAY.

Pitt and Fitzroy alone. A cold day. Winter.

FITZROY   He soils his clothes. Urine. Excrement. He talks filth. The slops of his mind swilling over. I am not a nurse. If His Majesty cannot regulate himself, how should he regulate the country?
Pitt says nothing.
I shall be relieved when it is ended … one way or another.
The King comes round a corner, helped by Greville, followed by the pages. He is wrapped in a rug, on his morning walk.

KING   Arch-grand proprietor. Omni-felonious. Omni-victorious, happy and glorious.

FITZROY   Mr Pitt, Your Majesty.

KING   Where?

PITT   Here, Your Majesty.

KING   Stand close, Mr Pitt. You’ll have to speak up, I don’t see very well. There is a fog here and in my ears – in my ears – in my ears – ears …