British television comedy

Blackadder (1983, 198689, 1999) is a television series which originally aired on BBC1 written by Richard Curtis, Ben Elton, and Rowan Atkinson. It traces members of the Blackadder dynasty and their associates through different periods of history.

The Black Adder: The Foretelling Born to be King The Archbishop The Queen of Spain's Beard Witchsmeller Pursuivant The Black Seal
Blackadder II: Bells Head Potato Money Beer Chains
Blackadder the Third: Dish and Dishonesty Ink and Incapability Nob and Nobility Sense and Senility Amy and Amiability Duel and Duality
Blackadder Goes Forth: Captain Cook Corporal Punishment Major Star Private Plane General Hospital Goodbyeee
Specials: The Cavalier Years Christmas Carol Back & Forth
Cast External links

The Black AdderEdit

The ForetellingEdit

King Richard III: Now is the summer of our sweet content, made o'ercast winter by these Tudor clowns. And I that am not shaped for black-faced war... [the assembled nobles cheer] ...I that am rudely cast and want true majesty... [the assembled nobles boo the implied insult given by the king's enemies] forced to fight to set sweet England free. I pray to Heaven we fare well, and all who fight us go to hell!
[the assembled nobles cheer, the loudest coming from a nobleman sitting at the very end of the table]
Edmund: Absolutely! Hooray!
King Richard III: Who is that?
Richard, Duke of York: I know not, my lord. I'll ask my son. Harry, who is that?
Harry: He's your other son, my lord.
Richard, Duke of York: It is my other son, my lord.
King Richard III: Fights he with us on the morrow?
Richard, Duke of York: [to Harry] What's his name?
Harry: Edmund.
Richard, Duke of York: [to Edmund] EDNA? Fight you with us on the morrow?
Edmund: Um, oh, goodness, no. I thought I'd rather fight with the enemy.
[Realising what he has just said, Edmund shrinks down into his chair]
King Richard III: You're, uh, not putting him anywhere near me, are you?
Richard, Duke of York: No, my lord. He'll be somewhere amongst the rabble.
King Richard III: Oh, arrow fodder.
Richard, Duke of York: Precisely.
[The king smiles and waves at Edmund]
King Richard III: [under his breath] What a little turd.

Edmund: Ah, Percy, you see how the King picks me out for special greeting?
Percy: No, my lord.
Baldrick: I saw it, my lord.
Edmund: And what is your name, little fellow?
Baldrick: My name is Baldrick, my lord.
Edmund: Then I shall call you... Baldrick.
Baldrick: And I shall call you "my lord," my lord.
Edmund: I like the cut of your jib, young fellow, me lad. How would you like to be my squire in the battle tomorrow?
[Baldrick kneels before Edmund]
Percy: [condescending] It will be a great day tomorrow for we nobles.
Edmund: Well, not if we lose, Percy. If we lose, I'll be chopped to pieces. My arms'll end up in Essex, my torso in Norfolk, and my genitalia stuck up a tree somewhere in Rutland.
Baldrick: With you at the helm, my lord, we cannot lose.
Percy: [condescending] Well, we could if we wanted to.
Edmund: Ah, but we won't, Percy. And I shall prove to all that I am a man!
Percy: But you are a man.
Edmund: But how shall it be proved, Percy?
Percy: Well, when they look up that tree in Rutland.
[Edmund hits Percy on the head]
Edmund: It shall be proved by mine enemies rushing to the water closet in terror!
Baldrick: Hooray!
Percy: Hooray!
Edmund: Come, a toast. Let all those who go to don armour tomorrow remember to go before they don armour tomorrow! Hooray!
[The three men raise and then down their goblets]
Edmund: Already, I can hear the sound of battle ringing in my ears.

Richard III: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more! Consign their parts most private to a Rutland tree.
Richard, Duke of York: Let blood! Blood! Blood!!! be your motto! Slit their gizzards!
Harry: Now, I'm afraid there's going to have to be a certain amount of... violence. But, at least we know it's all in a good cause, don't we?
King Richard III: And gentlemen in London still abed shall think themselves accursed that they were not here and hold their manhood cheap, while others speak of those who fought with us on Ralph the Liar's Day!

Edmund: Y-yes, um, I'm not so sure we're needed here, Baldrick. I mean, everything seems to be going very well, doesn't it? Everyone's fighting. Clearly having the time of their lives. Why, some people over there aren't fighting. They're just lying down.
Baldrick: They're dead, my lord.
Edmund: Ah. yes. Damn, I knew I'd forgotten something. Will you excuse me for a minute, Baldrick?

Edmund, Baldrick & Percy: Hurray!
Edmund: We're safe! And I am a prince of the realm. Hup-hup!
Baldrick: Huzzah!
Percy: Huzzah!
Edmund: Can you imagine the power?
Percy: It's ours! All ours!
Edmund: What?
Baldrick: Yours! All yours!
Harry: Ah, Edmund, there you are. Now, I know it's a bit early, but I'd just like to get these battle averages sorted out. Who did you kill today?
Edmund: Um... no one.
Harry: No one? Oh dear. Alright, I'll put you down for a duck, which I'm afraid takes you out of the running for the Order of the Garter.
Edmund: Oh, I see! Sorry. Sorry, I thought you meant 'Had I killed King Richard?'
Harry: What?
Edmund: What... was the question?
Harry: Who did you kill today?
Edmund: Oh, I see. Um...
[Percy whispers 'peasants']
Edmund: Pedant.
Harry: What?
Edmund: Pleasant... pedant... pes... peasants! Peasants! There were a lot of peasants. Um, but they don't really count, do they?
Harry: Only in the event of a tie. Nevertheless, how many did you kill?
[Percy holds up four fingers]
Edmund: Oh, four.
Harry: Four...
[Percy gestures with his hands]
Edmund: Four handred. Four handred... hand... fifty.
Harry: Four hundred and fifty? Good lord, that's three times more than myself!
Edmund: Yes, well I had a couple of lucky breaks.
Harry: Any nobles?
Edmund: Oh yes. I think, um...
[Percy whispers a name]
Edmund: Lord Coverdale.
Harry: Who fought on our side, I believe.
Edmund: Yes, I think Coverdale saw me slaying, um...
[Baldrick slants his helmet over his eye]
Edmund: Warrick.
Harry: Warrick the Wild of Leicester?
Edmund: Pretty wild he was, too. Took some finishing off.
Harry: Indeed. I killed him myself at some point. Anyone else?
Edmund: Oh... it's hard to put names to faces.
Harry: Yes, well, this is the list of lords as yet unaccounted for - Roger de Runcie?
Edmund: Oh, de Runcie, yes, he was one of mine.
Harry: Lord Thomas of Devon?
Edmund: Ah yes, backslash.
Harry: Lord Yeovril?
Edmund: Ah yes, groin job.
Harry: This is remarkable, Edmund! Remarkable! Oh, and the Bishop of Bath and Wells-
Edmund: Ah yes, will never walk again.
Harry: Will conduct the thanksgiving service.
Edmund: Oh, Bath and Wells!
Harry: Ah, Lord Percy. Edmund tells me you turned up late for the battle, so there's not much point in asking you your score, is there?

Edmund: Well, what do you expect? After all, who has the fastest brain in the land?
Baldrick: Prince Edmund, Duke of Edinburgh!
Edmund: Who is the boldest horseman in the land?
Baldrick: Prince Edmund!
Baldrick & Percy: Duke of Edinburgh!
Edmund: Who is the bravest swordsman in the land?
Percy: Oh, don't tell me. The Earl of Norfolk?
Edmund: [annoyed] Prince...
Baldrick & Percy: ...Edmund, Duke of Edinburgh!
Edmund: Precisely. Or, as I shall be known from now on, The Black... Vegetable.
Baldrick: My lord, wouldn't something like "The Black Adder" sound better?
Edmund: No, wait. I think I have a better idea. What about... The Black Adder!

Baldrick: Very witty, My Lord.
Edmund: Thank you, Baldrick.
Percy: Very, very, very witty, My Lord.
Edmund: Thank you, Percy.
Baldrick: You're certainly wittier than your father.
Percy: And head and shoulders over Richard III! [who he accidentally decapitated]
Edmund: [annoyed] Is that supposed to be witty?
Percy: Er... No, my lord. Th-that was an example of the sort of thing that you yourself would not stoop to.
Edmund: Go away!
Baldrick and Percy: Yes, my lord.

Born to Be KingEdit

[King Richard IV is about to set out on a crusade against the Turks]
King Richard IV: As the good Lord said: "Love thy neighbour as thyself, unless he's Turkish, in which case, kill the bastard!"

Edmund: Twelve months of chasing sheep and straightening the royal portraits, and now this. The bastard. The bastard!
Baldrick: If only he were, my lord.
Edmund: What?
Baldrick: If only he were a bastard, my lord. Then you would be regent now.
Edmund: Ah, yes. And one day...
Percy: You would be king, my lord.
Edmund: Yes, I would be king. And then what?
Baldrick & Percy: You'd rule the world, my lord!
Edmund: Exactly. It's just not fair, you know. Every other damn woman in the court has bastards, but not my mother, oh no. She's so damn pure, she daren't look down in case she notices her own breasts.

Lady-in-waiting: You must be so looking forward to the king's return, Your Majesty.
Queen Gertrude: No.
Lady-in-waiting: 'No', milady? But think, he will come to your chamber and make mad, passionate love to you!
Queen Gertrude: Yes, I wish he wouldn't do that. Very difficult to sleep with that kind of thing going on. Being used all night long like the outside of a sausage roll.
Lady-in-waiting: Still, there's the Saint Leonard's Day celebrations to look forward to. The jesters, the jugglers...
Queen Gertrude: The great brown ox, steaming and smoldering all night long.
Lady-in-waiting: Oh yes, the feast!
Queen Gertrude: Sorry? No, I was thinking of something else.
Lady-in-waiting: I do hope they've got the Morris dancers. I love them!
Queen Gertrude: Yes. I like the eunuchs.
Lady-in-waiting: Oh yes, the eunuchs! I wish I owned one.
Queen Gertrude: Wish I'd married one.

Dougal McAngus: Hope life doesn't get too dull not being able to pass laws over Scotland.
Edmund: [Laughs feebly then mutters under his breath] I wouldn't pass water over Scotland.

Edmund: Don't be absurd. Such activities are totally beyond my mother. My father only got anywhere with her because he told her it was a cure for diarrhoea.

Harry: We're all terribly pleased you're back, Father.
King Richard IV: I'm not. I miss the smell of blood in my nostrils, and the queen's 'got a headache'.
Harry: Oh dear. But we do have a fascinating week ahead. In fact, the Archbishop of York has asked me if you’d care to join his formation Italian dance class, and I really ought to give him an answer.
King Richard IV: Do you want me to be honest or tactful?
Harry: Er, tactful, I think.

The ArchbishopEdit

Edmund: Baldrick has been looking at some of the ways we could actually make a bit of money on this job.
Baldrick: Well, basically, there appear to be four major profit areas: Curses, pardons, relics and selling the sexual favours of nuns.
Edmund: Selling the sexual favours of nuns? You mean some people actually pay for them?
Baldrick: Well, foreign businessmen, other nuns, you know.
Edmund: Ah. Well, let's start with the pardons, shall we?
Baldrick: Right. Well, this is a fair selection. Basically, you seem to get what you pay for. They run all the way from this one, which is a pardon for talking with your mouth full, signed by an apprentice curate in Tewkesbury.
Edmund: Ah, how much is that?
Baldrick: Two pebbles. All the way up to this one, which is a pardon for (reads) "anything whatsoever, including murder, adultery, or dismemberment of (Edmund reads along) a close friend or relative."
Edmund: Who's that signed by?
Baldrick: Both popes.

[Baldrick has been knocking off "relics" to sell]
Percy: But this is disgraceful. my Lord! All of these are obviously fake!
Edmund: Ha, yes!
Percy: But, but how will people be able to tell the difference between these and the real relics?
Edmund: Well, they won't. That's the point!
Percy: Well, you won't be able to fool everyone! Look! (removes a small red cloth from his sleeve) I have here a true relic.
Edmund: What is it?
Percy: (unwraps the cloth) It is a bone from the finger of Our Lord. It cost me 31 pieces of silver.
Edmund: Good Lord. Is it real?
Percy: It is, my Lord. Baldrick, you stand amazed.
Baldrick: I am. I thought they only come in boxes of ten. (opens a box of finger bones)

[The Duke of Winchester, the greatest landowner in England, is on his deathbed, and both King Richard IV and Godfrey, the Archbishop of Canterbury, are by his side with ready-made wills.]
Duke of Winchester: Dying, my lords? Am I dying?
Archbishop Godfrey: Never!
King Richard IV: Never!
Archbishop Godfrey: Yet, my son, to pass away the idle hours until your recovery-
[The Duke moans loudly in pain]
Archbishop Godfrey: Let us imagine you yourself were to pass away. To whom would you leave your lands?
King Richard IV: Ah, to me, of course.
Duke of Winchester: Yes. To my beloved king.
Archbishop Godfrey: May your filthy soul be prepared for Hell, my son.
Duke of Winchester: Hell?
Archbishop Godfrey: Yes, Hell, where Satan belches fire and enormous devils break wind night and day. Hell, where your mind is never free from the torments of remorse, and your bottom never free from the pricking of little forks.
Duke of Winchester: No! Spare me the little forks!
King Richard IV: What is this nonsense?
Archbishop Godfrey: Hell, where the softest parts of your nether regions are everybody else's favourite lunch.
Duke of Winchester: Oh, Christ! [to King Richard] Forgive me, Sire. I must change my will and leave my land to the Church.
King Richard IV: WHAT?!
Archbishop Godfrey: Blessed be thy stainless soul.
King Richard IV: [to Duke] Ah, you will change your mind later. I know it.
[With a final, weak moan, the Duke dies.]
Archbishop Godfrey: [smugly] I think not.

(Another Archbishop of Canterbury has died)

Edmund: Ah yes, almost as tragic as Archbishop Bertrum being struck by a falling gargoyle while swimming off Beachy Head.
Harry: Quite, quite. And nearly as tragic as poor old Archbishop Wilfred slipping and falling backwards onto the spire of Norwich Cathedral. Oh Lord, you do work in mysterious ways. I just don’t know how I’m going to break it to his catamite.

King Richard IV: Members of the court, and, er, clergy, I have at last, after careful consultation with Our Lord God, his son, Jesus Christ, and his insubstantial friend, the Holy Ghost, decided upon the next Archbishop. May he last longer in his post than his predecessors.
Edmund: [sotto, thinking Harry will be chosen] Fat chance.
King Richard IV: I appoint to the Holy See of Canterbury my own son... Edwin, Duke of Edinburgh!
King Richard IV: [to Edmund] Don't be mistaken about this appointment, Edward. I've always despised you.
Edmund: Well, you are my father. I mean, you're biased.
King Richard IV: You, compared to your beloved brother, Harry, are as excrement compared to cream!
Harry: Oh, my lord, you flatter me!
Edmund: And me, also!
King Richard IV: So now, my boy, when I've at last found a use for you, don't try to get out of it!
Edmund: Oh no, no, no, no, no! I just thought someone else, someone equally weak-willed and feeble-
King Richard IV: HA! There's no such man!
Edmund: Of course not. Or perhaps someone who believed in God-
King Richard IV: No, no, no! If I needed someone who believed in God, I'd have chosen Harry! Not an embarrassing little weed like you.

[Lord Graveney, the owner of the most land in England, is on his deathbed, accompanied by William, the Bishop of London, brother to the dead Archbishop Godfrey]
Lord Graveney: [coughs] And if I don't leave my lands to the Church, then what?
Bishop William: Then, Lord Graveney, you will assuredly go to Hell.
Lord Graveney: Alas!
Bishop William: Hell, where the air is pungent with the aroma of roasted behinds.
Lord Graveney: No! No! [coughs] I place my lands in the hands of the Church, and so bid the world farewell.
[Graveney falls back onto his bed as King Richard bursts into the room.]
King Richard IV: What?!
Bishop William: Shhh!
King Richard IV: The Archbishop not yet arrived?!
Bishop William: Not yet, and even if he did arrive-
[Edmund, Percy and Baldrick arrive.]
Edmund: Wait!
Bishop William: Too late!
Edmund: Oh, get out of my way!
King Richard IV: I'll kill the pair of you! I'll abolish the Church!
Edmund: [to Lord Graveney] My lord! My lord! [to Bishop William] I said out!
[Percy and Baldrick force the Bishop out of the room while Edmund shakes Lord Graveney awake.]
Edmund: My lord, wake up! Wake up!
Lord Graveney: Am I in paradise?
Edmund: No, not yet!
Lord Graveney: Then this must be Hell! Alas, spare my posterior!
Edmund: No, you're alright! It's England!
Lord Graveney: And you are not Satan?
Edmund: No, I'm the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Lord Graveney: Oh, Your Grace! I have left my lands to the Church. Am I to be saved?
Edmund: Wait! Wait! Let’s just take this through in stages, shall we? Erm, you know, the Church doesn’t really need your lands…
King Richard IV: No, what it needs is a damn good thrashing!
Lord Graveney: But if I do not gain its' blessing, I will surely go to Hell!
Bishop William: Hell, where tiny tweezers-
King Richard IV: GET OUT!
Edmund: Someone like you go to Hell? Never! Never!
Lord Graveney: But I have committed many sins.
Edmund: Oh, haven't we all?
Lord Graveney: I murdered my father.
Edmund: [whispers] I know how you feel.
Bishop William: Alas!
King Richard IV: Hurry up, Egbert!
Lord Graveney: And I have committed adultery.
Edmund: Who hasn't?
Lord Graveney: More than a thousand times.
Edmund: Well, it is 1487.
Lord Graveney: With my mother.
[Edmund, Percy, Baldrick and King Richard react in horror and disgust.]
Lord Graveney: You see, I will go to Hell.
Bishop William: Hell, where growths like turnips sprout from the nose and the ears!
King Richard IV: Kill the bishop!
[Percy and Baldrick beat the Bishop onto the floor using a crucifix and a bible respectively.]
Edmund: Um, well, let's take Hell. Hell isn't as bad as it's cracked up to be.
Lord Graveney: What?
Edmund: No, no, no, no. You see, the thing about Heaven is that Heaven is for people who like the sort of things that go on in Heaven, like singing, talking to God, watering pot plants.
Lord Graveney: Ecchh!
Edmund: Whereas Hell, on the other hand, is for people who like the other sorts of things: [with relish] adultery, pillage, torture. Those areas.
Lord Graveney: [excited] Really?
Edmund: Mmm. Leave your lands to the Crown, and once you're dead, you'll have the time of your life.
Lord Graveney: [ecstatic] Adultery, pillage - through all eternity?
Edmund: Yep!
Bishop William: [in great pain] Struck with large sticks against your tender portions!
[Percy and Baldrick beat him back down onto the floor.]
King Richard IV: Well, Henry, your decision?
Lord Graveney: Very well. I leave my lands to the Crown and my soul in the hands of the Lord. May he treat me like the piece of refuse that I am and send me to Hell where I belong!
King Richard IV: [ecstatic] Amen!
Edmund: Amen. You're a very lucky man. I wish I could come with you, but being Archbishop...
Lord Graveney: I'm so sorry.
Edmund: Oh, it's alright.
Lord Graveney: AH! [dies. Edmund and the King rejoice]
King Richard IV: My son!
Edmund: Father! [they embrace]
King Richard IV: [kneels] Father.
Edmund: My son.

Edmund: Quick! The nunnery's on fire!

The Queen of Spain's BeardEdit

Messenger: My lord, good news! The Swiss have invaded France!
King Richard IV: Excellent! Wessex, while they're away, take ten thousand troops and pillage Geneva!
Chiswick: But the Swiss are our allies, my lord.
King Richard IV: Oh, yes. [to Lord Wessex] Well, get them to dress up as Germans, would you? Chiswick, remind me to send flowers to the king of France in sympathy for the death of his son.
Chiswick: The one you had murdered, my lord?
King Richard IV: [absentmindedly] Yes, yes, that's the fellow.
[Harry enters the room.]
Messenger: My lord-
Harry: Will you get away from me!
[The frightened messenger runs out while King Richard chuckles.]
King Richard IV: Ah, Harry, the gentle art of diplomacy. But you know where the real secret of diplomacy lies, don't you, my boy?
Harry: Um, no, actually, Father, but I would very much like to know.
King Richard IV: [points at Harry's private parts] There.
Harry: Are you sure? I can't imagine anything of real interest down there.
King Richard IV: Let me explain. What's that for?
Harry: Well, a couple of things.
King Richard IV: Correct. And one of those things is?
Harry: Best not mentioned, really.
King Richard IV: Right! And the other is fornication. Without fornication, there is no marriage, and without marriage, there is no diplomacy.
Harry: Oh, I see.
King Richard IV: Very good. You see, my boy, I have decided to ally to a kingdom most threatening to France. The answer is, of course, Spain. And the best way to cement an alliance, of course, is marriage. Therefore, I have decided that you shall marry the Spanish Infanta!
Harry: Actually, I don't think I can.
King Richard IV: What? Why not?
Harry: Well, I am already engaged.
King Richard IV: What?! Who to, boy?
Harry: Princess Leia of Hungary. And the Grand Duchess Ursula of Brandenburg. And Queen Beowulfa of Iceland. And, let's see... [reads off a scroll] Countess Caroline of Luxembourg, Bertha of Flanders, Bertha of Brussels, Bertha of Saxe-Coburg and Jezebel of Estonia.
King Richard IV: Damn, damn, damn! Well, if I haven't got a son to marry her, the whole plan falls apart!
Chiswick: Your Majesty?
King Richard IV: Yes?
Chiswick: You do have another son, my lord.
King Richard IV: What? [remembers] My god, of course! The slimy one. What's his name?
Chiswick: Edmund, my lord.
King Richard IV: Yes. Osmund. Osmund can marry the Infanta! And with a Spanish alliance, we can massacre both the Swiss and the French!
Harry, Chiswick and Wessex: Huzzah!
King Richard IV: By dividing their forces into two!
Harry, Chiswick and Wessex: Huzzah!
King Richard IV: Preferably their top halves from their bottom halves!
Harry, Chiswick and Wessex: Huzzah!

Percy: Wait a moment, my lord! I think I have a plan which could get you out of this mess.
Edmund: Yes, but it's a stupid plan, Percy, let's face it.
Percy: Oh, yes. Yes, maybe you're right.
Edmund: But tell me what it is anyway!
Percy: Ah, no, actually, I don't think I will, my lord.
Edmund: Please, Percy, tell me what your plan is! Please tell me!
Percy: Alright! I go to the Infanta's room and tell her that you've gone mad. She comes to the door and you meet her disguised as a little pig. Then, this is the cunning part, instead of saying 'oink, oink', you say 'Moo!'
Edmund: Then?
Percy: Well, then she'll know you're mad and leave!
[Edmund gestures in Percy's direction, and when Percy looks behind him, Edmund slaps him on the cheek]
Edmund: You're right, you shouldn't have bothered.
Baldrick: My Lord...
Edmund: What?
Baldrick: I also have a plan. Why not make her think you prefer the company of men?
Edmund: I do, Baldrick! I do!
Baldrick: No, no, My Lord. I mean, erm, the, er, intimate company of men...
Edmund: [horrified] You don't mean... like the Earl of Doncaster...?
Baldrick: I mean just like the Earl of Doncaster.
Edmund: That great radish? That steaming great left-footer? The Earl of Doncaster, Baldrick, has been riding side-saddle since he was 17.
Baldrick: Mm! And who would want to marry the Earle of Doncaster?
Edmund: Well, no-one wou - [understanding] Brilliant! Of course! No one would marry the Earl of Doncaster!... except, perhaps, the Duke of Beaufort.

Edmund: I would never have believed that my stag party would be like this - the most depressing night of my life.
Baldrick: Well, my lord, at least you can take solace in one thing.
Edmund: What's that?
Baldrick: We're pretty sure your wife's a virgin.
Edmund: At least there are no living witnesses to the contrary. If she wasn't, we might still stand a chance. Officially, you've still got to be a virgin.
[Suddenly, an idea forms in Edmund's head and he looks at Percy.]
Percy: What, my lord?
Edmund: [grins]
Percy: [understanding] Oh!
[Smiling, both of them look at Baldrick.]
Baldrick: [chuckles nervously] Oh no. [understanding] No. [horrified] No!
Edmund: Yes! Yes! YES!

Edmund: Your Majesty, I bring the gravest of news.
King Richard IV: What? Have our armies at the Rhine been slaughtered to a man, had their heads cut off and melted cheese poured down their nostrils in the traditional Swiss manner?
Edmund: Um, no, my lord.
King Richard IV: Then is it news of the Russian royal family, mistaken for bison due to their excessive winter clothing, hunted down, chopped to pieces and eaten as little sweets by Mongolian bandits?
Edmund: Um, no, my lord.
King Richard IV: Well, what then?
Edmund: My lord, the Spanish Infanta is not a virgin.
King Richard IV: Oh, yes, I know that. Her uncle told me. We took five hundred off the dowry because of it.
Edmund: But I thought-
King Richard IV: Only one of you has to be a virgin!

Witchsmeller PursuivantEdit

Witchsmeller: [talking about ordeal by axe] The suspect has his head placed upon a block, and an axe aimed at his neck. If the man is guilty, the axe will bounce off his neck — so we burn him. If the man is not guilty, the axe will simply slice his head off.

Witchsmeller: Do you deny that you were seen, on the Feast of St. Jacob the Turgid, speaking to this little cat Bubbles?
Edmund: Well, of course I deny it!
Witchsmeller: Ah, but the chambermaid Mary heard you say, and I quote, "Hello, little Bubbles, would you like some milk?"
Edmund: Well, I might have said that.
Witchsmeller: Ah! and what did you mean by it?
Edmund: Well I meant, would the cat like some milk.
Witchsmeller: Milk? What did you mean by milk?
Edmund: I meant milk, bloody milk!
Witchsmeller: Bloody milk! A mixture of milk and blood!
Edmund: No, no, just milk!
Witchsmeller: Ah, the blood was to come later!
Edmund: There wasn't any blood!

Witchsmeller: I call my last witness!
Edmund: Oh yes, and what is it? A cow? A talkative badger? An easily-bribed ant?
Witchsmeller: I call Jane Firkettle! Jane, do you recognise that man there?
Jane Firkettle: Which?
Witchsmeller: That one.
Jane Firkettle: 'Course I recognise him!
Edmund: She's seen me on a coin.
Witchsmeller: Have you or have you not committed sins of the flesh with him?
Jane Firkettle: Indeed, I have.
Edmund: You must be joking!
Jane Firkettle: To my deepest shame.
Edmund: And mine. I mean, look at her!
Witchsmeller: Can you describe these foul deeds?
Jane Firkettle: Well, after we had kissed just once, he transformed into a wild animal.
Edmund: Perhaps I do remember you.
Jane Firkettle: Three months later, I was great with child.
Edmund: Oh, for god's sake!
Witchsmeller: You bore him a son?
Jane Firkettle: Mmm. My little Johnny.
Witchsmeller: Can you see this son of Satan anywhere in this court?

Witchsmeller: Well, Grumbledook, your time has come. Do you wish to confess?
Edmund: Er, no.
Witchsmeller: Very well. [moves to light the pyre]
Edmund: Wait, yes! Yes, I do!
Witchsmeller: CONFESSION!
[the crowd cheers]
Edmund: I would like to confess in front of God, and this rather small crowd, that I have, on occasion, done things wrong.
Witchsmeller: Be more specific.
Edmund: Well, I have erred and strayed like a lost ox-
Witchsmeller: Sheep!
Edmund: Er, sheep. I have, uh, coveted my father's adultery.
Witchsmeller: Get on with it!
Edmund: I... I have not honored my neighbour's ass.
Witchsmeller: Oh, light the fires!
Edmund: I'm a witch! I'm a witch!
Percy: Me too! Me too!

The Black SealEdit

[England, 1498. Saint Juniper's Day, the day on which the King would lavish new honours on his kinfolk.]
King Richard IV: Saint Juniper once said "By his loins shall ye know him, and by the length of his rod shall he be measured." The length of my rod is a mystery to all but the queen and a thousand Turkish whores! But the fruits of my loins are here for all to see. I have two sons: Harry, and... another one. Step forward, Harry, Prince of Wales!
[Harry approaches the throne and prostrates himself before the King.]
King Richard IV: Harry, I hereby name thee Captain of the Guard, Grand Warden of the Northern and Eastern Marches, Chief Lunatic of the Duchy of Gloucester, Viceroy of Wales, Sheriff of Nottingham, Marquis of the Midlands, Lord Hoe-Maker in Ordinary, and Harbinger of the Doomed Rat.
[Harry rises and rejoins the crowd.]
King Richard IV: Step forward, the other one!
[Edmund approaches the throne and prostrates himself before the King.]
King Richard IV: Now, thy titles have been but few - Duke of Edinburgh and Warden of the Royal Privies. We thank thee, Egbert, for thy work in Edinburgh. Know now that we do relieve thee of they heavy task and give the Dukedom to Our lord cousin, Hastings. Many happy returns, Tom. Thus have I discharged the duties of Juniper. Chiswick, fresh horses! We ride at once to rebellious Stoke where it is my sworn intent to approach the city walls, bare my broad buttocks and shout "Behold. I honour thee most highly!"
[The King marches out of the throne room, with everyone following him except Percy, Baldrick, and Edmund, still prostrate on the floor.]
Percy: Well, it could have been worse, my lord.
Baldrick: Yeah, for a second, I was afraid you'd lose the privies.
Edmund: [suddenly stands up] NO! It will not do!
Percy: Uh, no, my lord, you're right! It won't!
Edmund: I must clear away the chaff from my life and let shine forth the true wheat of greatness!
Percy: Do it at once, my lord!
Edmund: Very well. Percy, you are dismissed from my services.
Percy: [laughs and points at Baldrick, then suddenly stops in realisation] Me? Why?
Edmund: Because Percy, far from being a fit consort for a prince of the realm, you would bore the leggings off a village idiot. You ride a horse rather less well than another horse would. Your brain would make a grain of sand look large and ungainly. And the part of you that can't be mentioned, I am reliably informed by women around the court, wouldn't be worth mentioning even if it could be. If you put on a floppy hat and a furry cod-piece, you might just get by as a fool, but since you wouldn't know a joke if it got up and gave you a haircut, I doubt it. That is why you are dismissed.
Percy: [meekly] Oh, I see.
Edmund: And as for you, Baldrick...
Baldrick: [hopefully] My Lord?
Edmund: You're out too.

Edmund: So I expect you'll go back to shovelling dung in the gutter where I found you?
Baldrick: Nah, I shouldn't think so.
Edmund: No?
Baldrick: Yeah, it took me years to get that job. I'll probably be milking pigs or mucking out lepers or something. It'll be years before I get back to shovelling dung again.

The Hawk: Fifteen years in France teaches a man to hate! Fifteen years of eating frogs! Fifteen years of wearing perfume! Fifteen years of saying perdon! And all because of you!

The Hawk: [describing his torture machine to Edmund] In precisely one minute, the spike will go up your nethers. The shears will cut off your ears. Then these axes will chop off your hands. And I don't think we need go further into the attributes of the codling grinder! These feathers will tickle you under what's left of your arms. That is the amusing part.

[Edmund's body lies in state in the middle of the throne room, bloody bandages covering the stumps of his arms and ears. His family stands over him, and the whole court is present, except for Percy and Baldrick]
Queen Gertrude: [sobbing] Oh, Edmund! Edmund!
Harry: [mournfully] Edmund...
King Richard IV: EDMUND!
[Edmund's eyes jerk open.]
King Richard IV: He lives!
[The court cheers, and Edmund speaks, his pained voice barely above a whisper.]
Edmund: Father, you called me Edmund...
King Richard IV: Sorry, Edgar. [shakes Edmund's shoulder] How are you?
Edmund: Not so well. Harry, what do you think my chances are?
Harry: Oh, good. Good.
Queen Gertrude: He will live?
Harry: What? Oh, no. Sorry. Sorry, I thought you meant your chances of going to Heaven.
Edmund: Oh, damn...
King Richard IV: Never fear, my son. Your body may be mutilated beyond recognition, but your spirit will live forever! My lords...
[Cut to Baldrick and Percy in Edmund's room. Baldrick stands up abruptly.]
Baldrick: What did you say?
[Cut back to the throne room, as King Richard raises a wine goblet for a toast.]
King Richard IV: I give you Edgar!
[Cut to Baldrick and Percy running hurriedly down a corridor.]
Baldrick: I told you to poison the goblets, not the whole vat!
[Cut back to the throne room, Edmund whispers into his father's ear.]
King Richard IV: The Black Dagger!
Edmund: Adder...
[King Richard, Queen Gertrude, Harry and the rest of the court drink from their goblets...]
King Richard IV: May his name last as long as our dynasty!
[...then collectively gasp, grab the side of their heads, and keel over dead.]
Edmund: Good lord. I wonder if it was the wine. [picks up a nearby goblet and takes a polite sip.] No, seems perfectly alright to me. And now, at last, I shall be King of E- [grabs the side of his head, then slumps down dead.]

Blackadder IIEdit


Kate: Father, I must speak. I can be silent no longer. All day long, you mutter to yourself, jibber, dribble, moan, and bash your head against the wall yelling "I want to die!". It's Mother, isn't it?
Kate's Father: No it's not.
Kate: You're brooding over her death, aren't you?
Kate's Father: Kate, for the final time, your mother's not dead. She's run off with your Uncle Henry!
Kate: I know you only say such things to comfort me.
Kate's Father: Your mother is alive and well and living in Droitwich! It's not her I brood over. I'm sad because our poverty has now reached such extremes that I can no longer afford to keep us. I must look to my own dear, tiny darling to sustain me in my frail dotage.
Kate: But, Father, surely-?
Kate's Father: Yes, Kate. I want you to become a prostitute.
Kate: Father!
Kate's Father: Do you defy me?!
Kate: Why, indeed I do! For it is better to die poor than to live in shame and ignominy!
Kate's Father: No it isn't.
Kate: I'm young and strong and clever. And my nose is pretty. I shall find another way to make us a living.
Kate's Father: Oh, please go on the game. It's a steady job, and you'd be working from home!
Kate: Goodbye, Father. I shall go to London, disguise myself as a boy and seek my fortune! [runs off]
Kate's Father: But why walk all the way to London when you can make a fortune lying on your back?!

Percy: Sorry I'm late!
Blackadder: Oh, don't bother apologising. I'm sorry you're alive.
Percy: Not bad, Edmund. Ah, I see the target's ready. I'd like to see the Spaniard who could make his way past me.
Blackadder: Well, go to Spain. There are millions of them.
Percy: I advise them to stay there then, keep their hands off our women.
Blackadder: Oh god, who is she this time?
Percy: I don't know what you mean.

[Blackadder swipes the pink note sticking out of Percy's tunic, opens it and kicks Percy when he tries to take it back.]

Blackadder: Ah, and who is Jane?
Percy: I am sworn to secrecy. Torture me, kill me, you shall never know.

[Blackadder, without looking, kicks Percy in the groin.]

Percy: Jane Harrington! We are very much in love, my lord.
Blackadder: This is the Jane Harrington?
Percy: Yes.
Blackadder: Jane "Bury-Me-In-A-Y-Shaped-Coffin" Harrington?
Percy: Um, I think maybe there are two Jane Harringtons.
Blackadder: No, tall, blonde, elegant?
Percy: That's right.
Blackadder: Goes like a privy door when the plague's in town?
Percy: My lord!
Blackadder: Go on, get on with your shot. You'll get over her. I did.

[Percy, breathing heavily to calm himself, readies his shot.]

Blackadder: So did Baldrick, actually.

[Percy slips, shooting Baldrick in the groin.]

Percy: Damn!
Blackadder: See, she's got this thing about beards, apparently.
Percy: Well, in that case, I'm going to shave!

[Baldrick has just been fired in favour of 'Bob'.]
Baldrick: I've got nowhere to go, my lord.
Blackadder: Oh, surely you'll be allowed to starve to death in one of the royal parks?
Baldrick: I've been in your service since I was two-and-a-half, my lord.
Blackadder: Well, that must be why I'm so utterly sick of the sight of you.
Baldrick: Couldn't I just stay here and do the same job but for no wages?
Blackadder: Well, you know where you'd have to live.
Baldrick: In the gutter.
Blackadder: Yes. And you'd have to work a bit harder, too.
Baldrick: Of course.

Doctor Leech: Now then, what seems to be the problem?
Blackadder: Well, it's my manservant.
Doctor Leech: I see. Well, don't be embarrassed. If you've got the pox, just pop your, er, manservant on the table and we'll take a look at it.
Blackadder: No, I mean, it's my real manservant.
Doctor Leech: Uh-huh. And what's wrong with him?
Blackadder: There's nothing wrong with him. That's the problem. He's perfect. And last night, I almost kissed him.
Doctor Leech: I see. So you've started fancying boys, then?
Blackadder: Not boys, a boy.
Doctor Leech: Yes, well, let's not split hairs. It's all rather disgusting, and, naturally, you're worried.
Blackadder: Of course I'm worried!
Doctor Leech: Of course you are. It isn't every day a man wakes up to discover he's a screaming bender with no more right to live on God's clean Earth than a weasel. Ashamed of yourself?
Blackadder: Not really, no.
Doctor Leech: Bloody hell, I would be. Still, why should I complain? Just leaves more rampant totty for us real men.
Blackadder: Look, am I paying for this abuse or is it extra?
Doctor Leech: No, all part of the service. I think you're in luck, though. An extraordinary new cure has just been found for exactly this kind of sick and sordid problem.
Blackadder: It wouldn't have anything to do with leeches, would it?
Doctor Leech: I had no idea you were a medical man.
Blackadder: I've never had anything you doctors didn't try to cure with leeches. A leech on my ear for earache, a leech on my bottom for constipation.
Doctor Leech: They're marvelous, aren't they?
Blackadder: Well, the bottom one wasn't. I just sat down and squashed it.
Doctor Leech: You know, the leech comes to us on the highest authority.
Blackadder: Yes, I'd heard that. Doctor Hoffmann of Stuttgart, I believe.
Doctor Leech: That's right, the great Hoffmann.
Blackadder: Owner of the largest leech farm in Europe.
Doctor Leech: Yes. Well, I can't spend all day gossiping. I'm a busy man. As far as this case is concerned, I've now had time to think it over, and I can strongly recommend...
Doctor Leech & Blackadder: A course of leeches.
Blackadder: Just pop a couple down my codpiece before I go to bed?
Doctor Leech: No, no, no. Don't be ridiculous. This isn't the Dark Ages. Just pop four in your mouth in the morning and let them dissolve slowly. In a couple of weeks, you'll be beating your servant with a stick just like the rest of us.
Blackadder: You're just an old quack, aren't you?
Doctor Leech: I'd rather be a quack than a ducky. Good day!

Blackadder: Tell me, young crone, is this Putney?
Young Crone: [cackling] That it be! That it be!
Blackadder: "Yes, it is," not "That it be". And you don't have to talk in that stupid voice to me, I'm not a tourist! I seek information about a Wise Woman.
Young Crone: The Wise Woman? The Wise Woman?!
Blackadder: Yes. The Wise Woman.
Young Crone: Two things, my Lord, must ye know of the Wise Woman. First... she is a woman! And second... she is...
Blackadder: Wise?
Young Crone: [normal] You do know her, then?
Blackadder: No, just a wild stab in the dark - which, incidentally, is what you'll be getting if you don't start being a bit more helpful! Do you know where she lives?
Young Crone: 'Course.
Blackadder: Where?
Young Crone: 'Ere. Do you have an appointment?
Blackadder: No.
Young Crone: Oh... you can go in anyway.
Blackadder: Thank you, young crone. Here is a purse of monies... [she tries to grab it] which I'm not going to give to you. [walks in]
Wise Woman: Hail, Edmund, Lord of Adders Black!
Blackadder: Hello.
Wise Woman: Step no nearer, for already I see thy bloody purpose. Thou plottest, Blackadder. Thou wouldst be king and drown Middlesex in a butte of wine! [cackling]
Blackadder: No, it's far worse than that. I'm in love with my manservant.
Wise Woman: Oh, well, I'd sleep with him if I were you.
Blackadder: What?
Wise Woman: When I fancy people, I sleep with them. Oh, I have to drug them first, of course, being so old and warty.
Blackadder: But what about my position, my social life?
Wise Woman: Very well. Three other paths are open to you. Three cunning plans to cure thy ailment.
Blackadder: Oh, good.
Wise Woman: The first is simple - kill the boy!
Blackadder: Never!
Wise Woman: Then try the second - kill yourself.
Blackadder: Mmm, and the third?
Wise Woman: The third is to ensure that no one else ever knows.
Blackadder: Ah, that sounds more like it. How?
Wise Woman: Kill everybody in the whole world! [cackling]
Blackadder: Uh-huh. [leaves]

Lord Melchett: I bring grave intelligence about your former favourite, Lord Blackadder. He wishes to marry a girl called Bob.
Queen: That's a very odd name for a girl, isn't it? Girls are normally called Elizabeth. Or Mary.
Nursie: And Donald.
Queen: Mouth is open, Nursie, should be shut.
Nursie: It's true, sweet one. I had three sisters and they were called Donald, Eric and Basil.
Queen: Then why's your name Nursie?
Nursie: That ain't my real name.
Queen: What is your real name?
Nursie: [chuckles] Bernard.
Queen: [smiles] Suits you, actually.

Kate: You'll make a lovely bridesmaid, Baldrick. It's a pity I don't have any girl chums, because we were so poor growing up, we couldn't afford friends.
Blackadder: It is strangely in keeping with the manner of our courtship that your maid of honour should be a man.
Baldrick: Thank you, my lord.
Blackadder: Well, I use the word 'man' in its' broadest possible sense. For as we all know, God made man in His own image. It'd be a sad lookout for Christians around the globe if God looked anything like you, Baldrick.
Kate: Ignore old Mister Grumpy. There you are, Balders. [kisses him on the cheek] You look sweet as a little pie.
Blackadder: Kate, he looks like what he is, a dungball in a dress.


Blackadder: Right Baldrick, let's try again, shall we? This is called adding. [gestures to the beans on the table] If I have two beans, and then I add two more beans, what do I have?
Baldrick: Some beans.
Blackadder: [smiles] Yes. And no. Let's try again, shall we? I have two beans, then I add two more beans. What does that make?
Baldrick: A very small casserole.
Blackadder: [impatiently] Baldrick, the ape-creatures of the Indus have mastered this. Now try again. [helps him count] One, two, three, four. So how many are there?
Baldrick: Three.
Blackadder: What?
Baldrick: And that one.
Blackadder: Three and 'that one'. [waves the fourth bean in front of Baldrick's face] So if I add that one to the three, what will I have?
Baldrick: Oh! Some beans.
Blackadder: [pause] Yes. To you, Baldrick, the Renaissance was just something that happened to other people, wasn't it?

Blackadder: [seeing Percy's abnormally wide new neckruff] You look like a bird who's swallowed a plate.
Percy: It's the latest fashion, actually. And as a matter of fact, it makes me look rather sexy!
Blackadder: To another plate-swallowing bird, perhaps. If it was blind and hadn't had it in months.
Percy: I think you may be wrong.
Blackadder: You're a sad, laughable figure, aren't you, Percy? Baldrick, what do you think of Percy's new ruff?
Baldrick: Four!
Blackadder: What?
Baldrick: Some beans and some beans is four beans.
Blackadder: No, now we've moved on from advanced mathematics to elementary dress making. What do you think of Percy's new ruff?
Baldrick: I think he looks like a bird who's swallowed a plate, my Lord.
Blackadder: No, that's what I think. What do you think? Try to have a thought of your own; thinking is so important. What do you think?
Baldrick: I think thinking is so important, my Lord.
Blackadder: I give up! I'm off to see the Queen.
Percy: Should I come too?
Blackadder: No, best not. People might think we're friends. You stay here with Baldrick. Bird-Neck and Bird-Brain should get on like a house on fire.

Blackadder: Right. Good morning, team. My name is Lord Blackadder. And I'm the new minister in charge of religious genocide. If you play fair by me, you'll find me a considerate employer. But cross me and you'll soon discover that under this playful, boyish exterior beats the heart of a ruthless, sadistic maniac.

Blackadder: And you are?
Ploppy: Gaoler, sir! My Lord.
Blackadder: Very good! And your name is?
Ploppy: Ploppy, sir.
Blackadder: Ploppy?
Ploppy: That's right, sir.
Blackadder: Ploppy...the gaoler.
Ploppy: That's right, sir! Ploppy, son of Ploppy.
Blackadder: Ploppy, son of Ploppy the gaoler.
Ploppy: Arr no, sir. I am the first Ploppy to rise to be gaoler. My father, Daddy Ploppy was known as Ploppy the Slopper. It was from him that I inherited my fascinating skin diseases.
Blackadder: Yes you are to be congratulated, Ploppy. We live in an age where illness and deformity are commonplace and yet you are without doubt, Ploppy, the most repulsive individual I've had the pleasure of meeting. I'd shake your hand but I fear it would come off.
Ploppy: There's no many bosses that'd be that considerate, sir.

Blackadder: Now. I want to run a fast, efficient operation and I intend to do as little work as possible. My deputy Percy here will explain.
Percy: (gets on a box) Good afternoon, staff. My name is Lord Percy. If you play fair by me, you'll find me a considerable employer. But if you cross me, by Jove-!
Blackadder: Just tell them the plan, duckface.

Blackadder: Baldrick! That Farrow bloke you executed today, you sure he's dead?
Baldrick: I chopped his head off. That usually does the trick.
Blackadder: Yes, don't get clever with me. I just thought you might've lopped off a leg or something by mistake.
Baldrick: No, the thing I chopped off had a nose.

Blackadder: Right, Baldrick, is that all clear?
Baldrick: Yes. Um, I've killed someone I shouldn't have killed, and now you want me to put a lady on my head and talk to his old bag.
Blackadder: I want you to put a bag on your head and talk to his old lady.
Baldrick: Oh. Why have I got to wear a bag?
Blackadder: In order, nincompoop, that she should believe you're her husband.
Baldrick: Did he used to wear a bag on his head?
Ploppy: Young Ploppy here has a point, my lord. Lord Farrow never wore a bag. He was an old-fashioned sort of a gent.
Percy: Yes, I hadn't meant to mention it, my Lord, but I did wonder all along why on Earth you should think Baldrick with a bag on his head is going to be a dead ringer for Lord Farrow, because he's not.
Blackadder: Look, cretins, the bag is there to conceal Baldrick's own features. And many might think, incidentally, that that might be reason enough for him to wear it. Before I bring in Lady Farrow, I shall explain to her, inventing some cunningly plausible excuse, that her husband has taken to wearing a bag. She can then chat to Baldrick, thinking he's the man she married, and the Queen need never know of my little miscalculation.
Ploppy: Why, my lord, that is a brilliant plan.
Percy: Foolproof.
Blackadder: You're very kind.
Ploppy: Although, there is something lurking in the back of my head that bothers me.
Blackadder: It's probably a flea.

Blackadder: Percy, this is a very difficult situation.
Percy: Yes, my lord.
Blackadder: Someone's for the chop. You or me, in fact.
Percy: [uneasily] Y-yes.
Blackadder: Let's face facts, Perc', it's you.
Percy: Except, I may have a plan!
Blackadder: Oh, yes?
Percy: How about if we get Farrow's head and body and we take it to the Queen, except, just before we get in, we start shouting and screaming, and we come in and say "We were just on our way when he tried to escape, and so we cut his head off in the corridor to teach him a lesson."?
Blackadder: Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Contemptible. Worth a try. Where'd we put the head?
Percy: It's on a spike in Traitors' Cloister.
Blackadder: Oh god, that's where the Queen's gone! Did she know Farrow?
Percy: Oh yes, they were childhood friends.
Blackadder: Well, if she sees his head on a spike, she'll realize he's dead! You fetch the body. I'll cover the head.

Percy: I've got the body, my lord, and I see you've got the head.
Blackadder: Yes, but it's not going to work, Percy. No one's going to believe we've just cut it off. It's gone green! We're doomed.
Percy: Doomed! [looks at the head] Wait a moment, that's not Farrow.
Blackadder: Isn't it?
Percy: No, that's Ponsonby!
Blackadder: My god, Ponsonby! [kisses the head] That genius Baldrick has killed the wrong bloke! We're saved!
Percy: Saved!
Blackadder: Farrow is alive and we're saved!
Percy: Hooray!
Blackadder: And when the Queen gets back from seeing Ponsonby, we'll... oh god! [runs off towards the dungeon]
Percy: We're doomed! [runs off after Edmund]


Baldrick: I was wondering if I might have the afternoon off?
Blackadder: Of course not. Who do you think you are, Wat Tyler? You can have the afternoon off when you die, not before.
Baldrick: But I want to cheer brave Sir Walter home. Oh, sir, on a day like today, I feel proud to be a member of the greatest kingdom on earth.
Blackadder: And doubtless many members of the animal kingdom feel the same.
[A loud cheer erupts from outside]
Blackadder: Look, will you shut up?! Bloody explorers. Ponce off to Mumbo-Jumbo Land and come home with a tropical disease, a suntan and a bag of brown lumpy things, and Bob's-your-uncle, everyone's got a picture of them in the lavatory! I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants?
Blackadder: No, me! I'm the people who do all the work! I mean, look at this! [holds up a potato] What is it?
Baldrick: I'm surprised you've forgotten, my lord.
Blackadder: I haven't forgotten, it's a rhetorical question.
Baldrick: Nah, it's a potato.
Blackadder: To you, it's a potato. To me, it's a potato. But to Sir Walter bloody Raleigh, it's luxury estates, fine carriages and as many girls as his tongue can cope with! He's making a fortune out of the things: people are smoking them, building houses out of them... they'll be eating them next!
Baldrick: Stranger things have happened, my lord.
Blackadder: [dismissively] Oh, exactly.
Baldrick: That horse becoming Pope.
Blackadder: For one.

[Knock on the door]

Blackadder: Get that, Baldrick. Probably some berk with a parrot on his shoulder selling plaster gnomes of Sir Francis Drake and his Golden Behind.

[After Baldrick goes to answer the door, Blackadder hears a young child chanting "Sourpuss! Grumpy-face!" outside his window. Blackadder grabs his bow, leans out the window and looses an arrow. The child screams and calls "Mummy"]

Blackadder: And another thing - why aren't you at school?
Melchett: I see you've started talking to yourself, Blackadder.
Blackadder: Yes, it's the only way I can be sure of intelligent conversation around here.

Melchett: Potato?
Blackadder: Thanks, I don't.

Captain Rum: laddie!
Blackadder: Ehehehe, indeed. So, Rum. I wish to hire you and your ship. Can we shake on it? (they do)
Captain Rum: AH! You have a woman's hands, m'Lord! I'll wager those dainty pinkies have never weighed anchor in a storm!
Blackadder: Well, you're right there.
Captain Rum: (pinches Blackadder's cheek and gasps) You have a woman's skin, m'lord! I'll wager that skin has ne'er felt the lash of the cat, been rubbed with salt and then flayed off by a pirate chief to make fine stockings for his best cabin boy!
Blackadder: It's uncanny, I don't know how you do you it but you're right again.
Captain Rum: Why should I let a stupid cockerel like you aboard me boat?
Blackadder: Perhaps for the monies in my purse?
Captain Rum: Haha-(gasp) You have a woman's purse, m'lord! I'll wager that purse has never been used as a rowing boat. I'll wager it's never had sixteen shipwrecked mariners tossing in it!
Blackadder: Yes, right again, Rum. I must say when it comes to tales of courage I'm going to have to keep my mouth shut!
Captain Rum: AH! You have a woman's mouth, m'lord! I'll wager that mouth never had to chew through the side of a ship to escape the dreadful spindly killer fish.
Blackadder: I must say, when I came to see you, I had no idea I was going to have to eat your ship as well as hire it. And since you're clearly as mad as a mongoose I'll bid you farewell.
Captain Rum: Damn courtiers to the Queen. You're nothing but lapdogs to the slip of a girl.
Blackadder: Better a lapdog to a slip of a girl than a...git!
Captain Rum: AHA! So you do have some spunk in you! Don't worry, laddie. I'll come!
Blackadder: Well, let us set sail at once. I shall fetch my first mate and return as fast as my legs will carry me!
Captain Rum: AH! You have a woman's legs, m'lord! I'll wager those are legs that have never been sliced clean off by a falling sail and swept into the sea before your very eyes.
Blackadder: Well, neither have yours.
Captain Rum: That's where you're wrong!

[Rum flips over the table to show his legs end in two stumps]

Blackadder: [annoyed] Oh my god.
Captain Rum: No point changing your mind now. No one else'll come. The whole thing's suicide anyway. What's the first mate's name?
Blackadder: Percy.
Captain Rum: A nautical cove?
Blackadder: Yes. Well, he's a sort of wet fish.

[Baldrick packs for the upcoming voyage while Percy frets.]

Percy: I'm not coming. I'm just not coming. Of course, I'm very keen to go on the trip. It's just I've got an appointment. To have my nostrils plucked. Next year.
Baldrick: I'm sorry, m'lord. I thought it was 'cause your were a complete coward.
Percy: [laughs nervously] Don't be ridiculous, Baldrick. You know me. I laugh in the face of fear and tweak the nose of the dreadful spindly killer fish. I'm not one of your milksops who's scared out of his mind by the mere sight of water.

[Baldrick offers a mug of water and Percy screams]

Percy: Yes, alright, I admit it, I'm terrified! You see, Baldrick, when I was a baby, I was savaged by a turbot. Oh, Baldrick, you can't think of a way to get me out of this, can you?
Baldrick: You could hide, m'lord.
Percy: Hide. Brilliant! Where?
Baldrick: Um... in the box!
Percy: Which one?
Baldrick: That one.
Percy: Perfect! [climbs into the box] Let's practice. Edmund comes in and says "Hello, Baldrick. Have you seen Percy?". And you say?
Baldrick: Uh, no, my lord, I haven't seen him all day.
Percy: Brilliant! Oh my god, here he comes!

[Percy closes the lid of the box just before Edmund walks in.]

Blackadder: Oh, hello, Balders. Where the hell's that cretin, Percy? You haven't seen him, have you?

[Baldrick struggles to remember what he was supposed to say, then replies...]

Baldrick: Yes, my lord. He's hiding in the box.
Blackadder: [bangs on the box] Come on, jelly brain! Hurry up or we'll miss the tide!

Captain Rum: AaaaAAA-ha!
Blackadder: Ha-a-a-ha!
Baldrick: Ha-aaa-aaaa-ha!
[all turn to Percy expectantly. He is sulking.]
Blackadder: Not joining us in the ha-has, Percy?
Percy: [despondant] No. I'm thinking of England and the girl I left behind me.
Blackadder: Oh God, I didn't know you had a girl.
Percy: Oh yes. Lady Caroline Fairfax.
Blackadder: Caroline? I didn't know you knew her.
Percy: Oh yes. I even touched her once.
Blackadder: Touched her what?
Percy: No, once, in a corridor.
Blackadder: I've never heard it called that before. Still, when you get home in six months, you'll be a hero. She might even let you get your hands on her twice.
Percy: I fear not.
Blackadder: Why not?
Percy: [hysterical] Because we'll never get home! We're doomed! Doomed! Condemned to a watery grave by a legless captain!
Captain Redbeard Rum: Rubbish! I've hardly touched a drop!
Percy: No, I mean you haven't got any legs.
Captain Rum: Oh yes. You're right there. Carry on. Sorry.
Percy: [despondant] Oh God. We've no hope. No hope of ever returning.
Blackadder: On the contrary, we are certain to return.
Percy: Why?
Blackadder: Because, me old salts, we are not going to the Cape of Good Hope at all.
Percy, Baldrick & Captain Rum: [shocked] What?!
Blackadder: We are, in fact, going to France.
Percy, Baldrick & Captain Rum: [shocked] France?!
Percy: Oh, but, Edmund, surely France has already been discovered. By the French, for a start.
Blackadder: Well, precisely, it's a trick! We just camp down in the Dordogne for six months, get a good suntan, come home, pretend we've been 'round the Cape and get all the glory.
Percy: Hooray!
Captain Rum: A masterly plan, me young master! And one that leads me to make an announcement meself.
Blackadder: What's that, Rum?
Captain Rum: Truth is... I don't know the way to the Cape of Good Hope anyway.
Blackadder: Well, what were you going to do?
Captain Rum: Oh, what I usually do - sail 'round and 'round the Isle of Wight 'til everyone gets dizzy, then sail for home.
Blackadder: You old rascal! Still, who cares? The day after tomorrow, we shall be in Calais. [Gets to his feet and raises his mug] Captain, set sail for France!
Percy, Baldrick & Captain Rum: Hooray!

[The day after the day after tomorrow...]

Blackadder: [slowly] So you don't know the way to France either.
Captain Rum: No! I must confess that too.
Blackadder: Bugger.

Blackadder: Look, there's no need to panic. Someone in the crew will know how to steer this thing.
Captain Rum: The crew, milord?
Blackadder: Yes, the crew.
Captain Rum: What crew?
Blackadder: I was under the impression that it was common maritime practice for a ship to have a crew.
Captain Rum: Opinion is divided on the subject.
Blackadder: Really?
Captain Rum: Yarrs. All the other captains say it is, I say it isn't.
Blackadder: Oh God, mad as a brush.

[After six months at sea, Blackadder, Percy and Baldrick prepare to drink their own urine.]

Blackadder: Is Captain Rum joining us for this Bring-A-Sample party?
Percy: Oh no, he's been swigging his for ages. Says he likes it. Actually, come to think of it, he started before the water ran out.

[After two and a half years at sea, Blackadder returns to England.]

Queen: Edmund! You're alive!
Blackadder: Oh yes.
Queen: And your silly friend.
Percy: [bows] Lord Percy, Ma'am.
Queen: And your monkey!
Baldrick: [bows] Your Majesty.
Queen: But where is Captain Rum?
Blackadder: Ah, bad news, Milady, Rum is dead.

[Nursie wails in grief.]

Percy: Do not despair, good woman. He died a hero's death, giving his life so that his friends might live.
Blackadder: And that his enemies might have something to go with their potatoes.
Nursie: You mean-?
Blackadder: Yes, your fiancé was only a third-rate sailor, but a first-rate second course.

[Nursie starts crying again.]

Blackadder: However, we did manage to save something of him as a memento.

[Blackadder hands Nursie Captain Rum's beard.]

Nursie: Oh, my lucky stars! I shall wear it always to remind me of him. [puts the beard on]

[Blackadder hands the Queen a boomerang.]

Queen: [to Lord Melchett] What is it?
Lord Melchett: A stick.
Queen: Is it a stick, Lord Blackadder?
Blackadder: Ah, yes, Ma'am. But it is a very special stick, because, when you throw it away, it comes back!
Queen: Well, that's no good, is it? Because when I throw things away, I don't want them to come back! [to Percy] You! Get rid of it.
Percy: Certainly, Ma'am. [throws it into the corridor]


Blackadder: Baldrick, this is Molly, a dear friend of mine.
Molly: I'm not dear. I'm very reasonable, actually, Baldrick. Most girls would charge an extra sixpence for all the 'orrid things he wants-
Blackadder: Yes, yes, alright. Baldrick, this is Molly, an inexpensive prostitute. Molly, this is Baldrick, a pointless peasant. Now may I get some sleep?
Baldrick: What about this priest?
Blackadder: Tell him to take his sacred backside out of here, and that if he comes begging again, I shall report him to the Bishop of Bath and Wells, the one who drowns babies during Christenings and then eats them.
Baldrick: Very good, my lord.
Molly: [flirty] Bye, Baldrick.
Baldrick: [bashful] Buh-bye, Molly.
Blackadder: [to Baldrick] For god's sake, get out! [to Molly] Well, you're a one, aren't you? When you should be whispering sweet conversational nothings like "Goodness, something twice the size of the Royal Barge has just hoved into view between the sheets", you don't say a word. But enter the Creature from the Black Latrine, and you won't stop jabbering.
Molly: He treated me like a human being.
Blackadder: Look, if I had wanted a lecture on the rights of man, I'd have gone to bed with Martin Luther.

Blackadder: Tell me, Bishop, supposing I was to say something like "I'm a close friend of the Queen's, and I think she would be very interested to hear about you and Molly and the wimple, so why don't we just call it quits, eh, Fatso?".
Bishop of Bath and Wells: I would say, firstly, the Queen would not believe you, and secondly, [pulls out a poker, its' end glowing red hot] you'll regret calling me 'Fatso' later today!
Blackadder: Ah.
Bishop of Bath and Wells: I will have my money by Evensong tonight, or... YOUR BOTTOM WILL WISH IT HAD NEVER BEEN BORN!!!

Percy: Do not despair, for I have some small savings carefully harvested from my weekly allowance. By lucky hap, it is just over a thousand, and has, for years, been hidden, beyond the wit of any thief, in an old sock....
Percy and Blackadder: ...under the squeaky floorboard...
Percy, Blackadder and Baldrick: ...behind the kitchen dresser.
Percy: [uneasily] You've seen it?
Blackadder: Seen it, pinched it, spent it. As well as the two farthings Baldrick hid inside that mouldy potato.
Baldrick: Oh, bloody hell!
Percy: Then you are doomed. Alas. For god's sake, let us sit upon the carpet and tell sad stories.
Blackadder: Certainly not! When Lord Blackadder is in trouble, he does not sit about!
Baldrick: You won't be able to sit about with a spike up your bottom.
Blackadder: That's true. Still, I've got eighty-five quid and that's a start. I'm sure I'll think of something as long as I'm not disturbed...
Messenger: My lord, the Queen does demand your urgent presence, on pain of death.
Blackadder: Oh, damn, the path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the devil's own satanic herd!

Percy: I intend to discover, this very afternoon, the secret of alchemy - the hidden art of turning base things into gold.
Blackadder: I see. And the fact that this secret has eluded the most intelligent of men since the dawn of time doesn't dampen your spirits?
Percy: Oh no. I like a challenge!

Messenger: My lord, the Queen does demand your urgent presence, on pain of death.
Blackadder: You're not making any friends here. You do know that, don't you, messenger?

[After the Queen's latest practical joke, Edmund returns to his house to find it filled with smoke.]
Blackadder: Oh god! This place stinks like a pair of armoured trousers after the Hundred Years War. Baldrick, have you been eating dung again?!
[Percy comes out of the den, frazzled and slightly burnt]
Percy: My lord! Success!
Blackadder: What?
[Percy leads Edmund into the den, where a chemistry apparatus has been arranged on the table, with Baldrick pumping the bellows]
Percy: After literally an hour's ceaseless searching, I have succeeded in creating gold! Pure gold!
Blackadder: Are you sure?
Percy: Yes, my lord! Behold...
[Edmund and Baldrick look at the main pot as Percy opens it, revealing its' contents and bathing the room in its' light]
Blackadder: Percy, it's green.
Percy: That's right, my lord!
Blackadder: Yes, Percy, I don't want to be pedantic, but the colour of gold is gold. That's why it's called 'gold'. What you have discovered, if it has a name, is some 'green'.
[Amazed, Percy takes the green out of the pot and holds it reverently in his hands]
Percy: Oh, Edmund, can it be true? That I hold here, in my mortal hand, a nugget of purest green?
Blackadder: Indeed you do, Percy. Except it's not really a nugget, but more of a splat.
Percy: Well, yes, a splat today, but tomorrow, who knows, or dares to dream!
Blackadder: So we three alone in all the world can create the finest green at will?
Percy: Thus so. [aside] Not sure about counting in Baldrick, actually.
Blackadder: Of course, you know what your great discovery means, don't you, Percy?
Percy: Perhaps, my lord...
Blackadder: That you, Percy, Lord Percy, are an utter berk. Baldrick, pack my bags. I'm gonna sell the house.
Baldrick and Percy: What?
Blackadder: There's nothing else for it. I mean, I shall miss the old place. I've had some happy times here, when you and Percy have been out, but needs must when the devil vomits into your kettle. Baldrick, go forth into the street and let it be known that Lord Blackadder wishes to sell his house. Percy, just go forth into the street.

Blackadder: This is the den.
Mrs. Pants: [disgusted] Oh dear!
Blackadder: But I have to tell you, Mr. Pants, that I've had an extremely encouraging nibble from another client, and I think you know me the sort of man not to ignore a nibble for long.
Mrs. Pants: I smell some dry rot in the bedrooms, Timothy.
Blackadder: Well, Mrs Pants, dry rot is as dry rot does.
Mrs. Pants: And the floors are, perhaps, a bit uneven.
Blackadder: Indeed, and at no extra cost.
Mrs. Pants: Strange smell.
Blackadder: Yes, that's the servant. He'll be gone soon.
Mr. Timothy Pants: You've really worked out your banter, haven't you?
Blackadder: No, not really. This is a different thing; it's spontaneous and it's called wit.
Mrs. Pants: What about the privies?
Blackadder: When the master craftsman who designed this home was looking at sewage, he said to himself, "Romeo", for 'twas his name, "Romeo, let's make 'em functional and comfortable."
Mr. Timothy Pants: Oh, well, that sounds nice, don't it, dear?
Blackadder: I'm glad we understand each other, sir. So, sold then. Drink?
Mrs. Pants: [insistent] What about the privies?
Blackadder: Well, what we're talking about in 'privy' terms is the very latest in front-wall, fresh air orifices combined with a wide capacity gutter installation below.
Mrs. Pants: You mean you crap out of the window?
Blackadder: Yes!
Mrs. Pants: Well, in that case, we'll definitely take it! I can't stand those dirty indoor things.

Messenger: My lord-
Blackadder: [sarcastic] Ah, messenger, thank god you came. Percy and I could not have waited another second without you.

Blackadder: Right, Balders, I've lost the money. I'm going to have to run away.
Baldrick: Why, my lord?
Blackadder: Well, to avoid these monks!
Baldrick: No point. The Black Bank's got branches everywhere.
Blackadder: Oh no! [slumps to the floor] If I die, Baldrick, do you think people would remember me?
Baldrick: Yeah, 'course they would.
Blackadder: Yes, I suppose so.
Baldrick: Yeah, people would always be slapping each other on the shoulder and laughing and saying "Do you remember Old Privy-Breath?".
Blackadder: Do people call me "Privy-Breath"?
Baldrick: Yeah. The ones who like you.
Blackadder: Am I then not popular?
Baldrick: Um... well, put it this way - when people step in what dogs leave in the street, they do tend to say "Whoops, I've trod on a Blackadder".
Blackadder: The bloody cheek! I'll show them!
Baldrick: Have you got a plan, my lord?
Blackadder: Yes I have, and it's so cunning you could brush your teeth with it! All I need is some feathers, a dress, some oil, an easel, some sleeping draught, lots of paper, a prostitute and the best portrait-painter in England!
Baldrick: I'll get them right away, my lord!

[After accepting a goblet of wine from Baldrick, the Bishop of Bath and Wells prepares to shove a red-hot poker up Edmund's bottom]
Bishop of Bath and Wells: Bend over, Blackadder! This where you get... [chokes and clutches at his throat] Drugged by God!
Blackadder: No, by Baldrick, actually, but the effect is much the same.

[On the painting Blackadder had made to blackmail the Bishop of Bath and Wells]
Bishop of Bath and Wells: By the horns of Beelzebub, how did you get me into that position?!
Blackadder: It's beautifully framed, don't you think? Which is ironic, really, because that's exactly what's happened to you.
Bishop of Bath and Wells: You fiend! Never have I encountered such corrupt and foul-minded perversity! Have you ever considered a career in the church?!
Blackadder: No, I could never get used to the underwear. What I could use, though, is, say, eleven-hundred pounds to buy back my house, four thousand pounds to cover some sundry expenses, ten shillings for the two doors and thruppence for a celebratory slap-up binge at Mrs Miggins' Pie Shop.


Blackadder: Baldrick! Baldrick, why have you got a piece of cheese tied to the end of your nose?
Baldrick: To catch mice, my lord. I lie on the floor with my mouth open and hope they scurry in.
Blackadder: And do they?
Baldrick: Not yet, my lord.
Blackadder: That's hardly surprising. Your breath comes straight from Satan's bottom, Baldrick. The only sort of mouse you're likely to catch is one without a nose.
Baldrick: That's a pity, 'cause the nose is the best bit on a mouse.
Blackadder: Any bit of mouse would be luxury compared to what Percy and I must eat tonight. We are entertaining Puritan vegetable folk, Balders. And that means no meat.
Baldrick: In that case, I shall prepare my Turnip Surprise.
Blackadder: And the surprise is what?
Baldrick: There's nothing else in it except the turnip.
Blackadder: So, in other words, the Turnip Surprise would be a turnip?
Baldrick: [in realisation] Oh yeah.

Blackadder: Get the door, Baldrick.
[There is a crash. Baldrick enters, carrying a door.]
Blackadder: I would advise you to make the explanation you are about to give... phenomenally good.
Baldrick: You said "Get the door."
Blackadder: Not good enough. You're fired.
Baldrick: But my lord, I've been in your family since 1532!
Blackadder: So has syphilis. Now get out!
Baldrick: Alright, sir. Oh, by the way, there was a messenger at the door. Says the Queen wants to see you right away. Lord Melchett is very sick.
Blackadder: [intrigued] Really?
Baldrick: Yeah, he's at death's door.
Blackadder: Well, my reinstated faithful old family retainer, let's go and open it for him!

Queen: I must say, Edmund, it does look a teeny bit like trying to get out of it.
Blackadder: Quite the wrong impression, ma'am. I just want to make it another night, that's all.
Nursie: Certainly not!
Queen: I beg your pardon?
Nursie: Well, it's just one excuse after another, isn't it? Next he'll be trying to get out of having his bath altogether.
Queen: He isn't talking about baths, Nursie.
Nursie: Well, he should be. How else is he gonna keep clean? Soon, he'll be saying he doesn't want to have his nappy changed.
Queen: Lord Blackadder doesn't wear a nappy.
Nursie: Well, in that case, it's even more important that he has a bath.
Queen: Shut up, Nursie! [to Blackadder] I know why you want to get out of it because I remember the last time you had a party. I found you face-down in a puddle wearing a pointy hat and singing a song about goblins!
Blackadder: Yes, alright! Tonight it is!
Queen: Oh, Edmund, I do love it when you get cross. Sometimes I think about having you executed just to see the expression on your face.

Blackadder: Right, now let's make this absolutely clear: we are having two parties here tonight.
Baldrick and Percy: Right.
Blackadder: And they must be kept completely separate.
Baldrick and Percy: Right.
Blackadder: Firstly, a total piss-up involving beer-throwing, broken furniture and wall-to-wall vomiting to be held here in Baldrick's bedroom.
Baldrick: Oh, thank you very much, my lord.
Blackadder: Secondly, Percy will join me in here for the gourmet turnip eating. Is the Turnip Surprise ready?
Baldrick: [cracking up] Yes it is, my lord.
Blackadder: And what is so funny?
Percy: [cracking up] Well, my lord, while Baldrick and I were preparing the Turnip Surprise, we had a surprise. We came across a turnip that was exactly the same shape... as a thingy!
Blackadder: [deadpan] A thingy?
Baldrick: [cracking up] A great big thingy! It was teriffic!
Blackadder: Size is no guarantee of quality, Baldrick. Most horses are very well-endowed, but that does not make them unusually sensitive lovers. I trust you have removed this 'hilarious' item?
Baldrick and Percy: Yes.
Blackadder: Good, because there's nothing more like to stop an inheritance than a thingy-shaped turnip.
Percy: Oh, absolutely, Edmund. [cracking up] But it was jolly funny!
Baldrick: I found it particularly ironic, my lord, 'cause I've got a thingy that's shaped like a turnip.
Blackadder: [annoyed] Yes, yes.
Baldrick: It's great for parties. I hide in the vegetable rack and frighten the children.
Blackadder: What fun. Perhaps you've forgotten that I'm meant to be having a drinking competition tonight with Lord Melchett and ten thousand florins are at stake!
Baldrick: Oh dear.
Blackadder: What do you mean?
Baldrick: Well, firstly, you haven't got ten thousand florins, and thirdly, one drop of the ale and you'll fall flat on your face and sing that song about the goblin.
Blackadder: Nonsense. But just in case it's true-
Baldrick: It is true-
Blackadder: Yes, alright, it's true! So the plan is, when I call for my 'incredibly strong ale', you must pass me water in an ale bottle. Got that?
Baldrick: Yeah, when you call for ale, I pass water.
Blackadder: Percy, your job is to stay here and suck up to my aunt.
Percy: Oh, I think you can trust me to know how to handle a woman.
Blackadder: Oh god. [hears a knock at the door] Right, here goes.

Blackadder: Uncle! Aunt! Greetings! How nice it is to see you again.
Lady Whiteadder: [slaps him twice on the cheek] Wicked child, don't lie! Everyone hates us, and you know it!
Blackadder: Er, yes. Uh, may I introduce my friend, Lord Percy.
Percy: Well, well, well, Eddie. You didn't tell me you had such a good-looking aunt. Good morrow to thee, gorgeousness. I know what I like, and I like what I see.
Lady Whiteadder: [slaps him on the cheek] Begone, Satan!
Blackadder: Yes,, well, I hope you had a pleasant inheritance. Did I say 'inheritance'? I meant 'journey'. If you'd just like to help yourselves to a legacy, uh, a chair.
Lady Whiteadder: Chair?! You have chairs in your house?
Blackadder: Oh yes.
Lady Whiteadder: [slaps him twice on the cheek] Wicked child! Chairs are an invention of Satan! In our house, Nathaniel sits on a spike.
Blackadder: And yourself?
Lady Whiteadder: I sit on Nathaniel. Two spikes would be an extravagence.
Blackadder: Well, quite.
Lady Whiteadder: [sits down] I will suffer comfort this once. We shall just have to stick forks in our legs between courses. I trust you remember we eat no meat?
Blackadder: Heaven forbid! Here we feast only on God's lovely turnip, mashed.
Lady Whiteadder: Mashed?!
Blackadder: [uneasily] Yes?
Lady Whiteadder: [slaps him twice on the cheek] Wicked child! Mashing is also the work of Beelzebub! For Satan saw God's blessed turnip, and he envied it and mashed it to spoil its' sacred shape! I shall have my turnip as God intended.
Blackadder: Baldrick!
Baldrick: My lord?
Blackadder: Will you fetch my dear aunt a raw turnip, please.
Baldrick: But we've only got the-
Blackadder: Just do it. [to Lord Whiteadder] So, Uncle, will you have your turnip as God intended?
Lady Whiteadder: He will not answer you. He has taken a vow of silence. I believe that silence is golden.

Lady Whiteadder: Let us discuss your inheritance.
Blackadder: Ah, yes, good. Um, a little drink first, perhaps?
Lady Whiteadder: Drink?! [slaps him twice on the cheek] Wicked child! Drink is urine for the last leper in Hell!
Blackadder: No, no, this is only water. This is a house of simple purity.
[The door behind Edmund opens, revealing one of the partygoers, Freddy Frobisher, who stumbles through the door, runs past Edmund and Lady Whiteadder and vomits loudly into the fireplace behind Percy. Then he stumbles back to the door.]
Freddy Frobisher: Great booze-up, Edmund!
[As he staggers out into the hallway, giving a loud cheer, Percy hides his face in his hand, the Whiteadders look on in silent dismay, and Blackadder stays completely still and silent.]
Lady Whiteadder: Do you know that man?
Blackadder: [quickly] No.
Lady Whiteadder: He called you 'Edmund'.
Blackadder: Oh, know him? Oh yes, I do.
Lady Whiteadder: Then can you explain what he meant by 'great booze-up'?
Blackadder: [thinks for nearly a whole minute] Yes, I can. My friend is a missionary, and, on his last visit abroad, brought back with him the chief of a famous tribe. His name is Great Boo. He's been suffering from sleeping sickness, and he's obviously just woken. Because, as you heard, Great Boo's up.
Percy: Well done, Edmund.
Blackadder: And I think I might just go and visit him. Percy, over to you.

Blackadder: [drunk] Percy, I lost the bet.
Lady Whiteadder: Edmund, explain yourself!
Blackadder: I can't. Not just like that. I'm a complicated person, you see, Auntie. Sometimes I'm nice, sometimes I'm nasty. And sometimes I just like to sing little songs like, See the little goblin-
Lady Whiteadder: I mean explain why you are wearing a cardinal's hat, why you are grinning inanely and... [Edmund falls over onto a chair with his back facing the table] ...why you have an ostrich feather sticking out of your britches.
Blackadder: I'm wearing a cardinal's hat because I'm Cardinal Chunder. I have a ostrich feather up my bottom because Mr Ostrich put it there to keep in the little pixies. And I'm grinning inanely because I think I've just about succeeded in conning you and your daft husband out of a whopping great inheritance. Eeee!
Lady Whiteadder: Is that right?! May I remind you, cursed creature, that your inheritance depends upon not drinking and not gambling!
Blackadder: Oh yes. Damn. Percy, the devil farts in my face once more.
Lady Whiteadder: Not mentioning farts was also a condition.
Blackadder: Shove off, you old trout.
Lady Whiteadder: How dare you speak to my husband like that! [to Lord Whiteadder] Nathaniel, we're leaving! [to Percy] And you.
Percy: Yes?
Lady Whiteadder: Has anyone ever told you you're a giggling imbecile?
Percy: Oh, yes.
Lady Whiteadder: Good.
[The Whiteadders head out into the hallway, Lady Whiteadder slamming the door behind her.]
Blackadder: Good riddance, you old witch.
[A knock on the door.]
Blackadder: Oops, she's forgotten her broomstick.
Lord Nathaniel Whiteadder: Look... [looks behind him, then turns back to Blackadder] I just wanted to say thanks for a splendid evening! Yes, first rate all around. Particularly your jester. By the way, I loved the turnip. [snickers] Very funny. Exactly the same shape as a thingy!


Blackadder: Anyone stupid enough to let some mustachioed Dago come up to them in a corridor, say "Excuse me, meester", and hit them over the head with a big stick deserves everything they get.

Prince Ludwig: Forgive me, Herr Blackadder... I have been neglecting my duties as a host. Please accept my apple-ogies.
Blackadder: I accept nothing from a man who imprisons his guests in a commode.
Prince Ludwig: I hope this scum has not inconweenienced you.
Edmund: It takes more than a maniac trying to cut off my goolies to inconweenience me.
Prince Ludwig: Good. If he had inconweenienced you, I was going to offer you his tongue.
Blackadder: Believe me, sir: if he had inconweeniened me, you would not have a tongue with which to make such an offer.
Prince Ludwig: Let me assure you, Herr Blackadder: if I no longer had a tongue with which to make such an offer, you would no longer have a tongue with which to tell me that, if I had inconweenienced you, I would no longer have a tongue with which to offer you his tongue.
Edmund: Yes, well, enough of this banter. Who the hell are you, sausage breath?
Prince Ludwig: You do not remember me then, Herr Blackadder?
Blackadder: I don't believe I've had the pleasure.
Prince Ludwig: Oh, on the contrary. We have met many times, although you knew me by another name. Do you recall a mysterious black marketeer and smuggler called Otto with whom you used to dine and plot and play the biscuit game at the Old Pizzle in Dover?
Blackadder: My God!
Prince Ludwig: Yes! I was the waitress.
Edmund: I don't believe it! You? Big Sally?
Prince Ludwig: [falsetto] `Will you have another piece of pie, My Lord?'
Blackadder: But I went to bed with you, didn't I?
Prince Ludwig: For my country, I am willing to make any sacrifice.
Blackadder: Yes, but I'm not! I must have been paralytic!
Prince Ludwig: Indeed you were, "Mr. Floppy".

Percy: [reading Prince Ludwig's ransom letter] Dear Qveen, I, Evil Prince Ludvig the Indestructible, have your two friends, and you must... shoose between them. The ransom is one million krona. Many, many apple-ogies for the inconweenience.

Lord Melchett: What say you, Blackadder, I sing a song to keep our spirits up?
Blackadder: Well, that all depends on whether you want the slop bucket over your head or not.
Lord Melchett: Well, then perhaps some pleasant word game?
Blackadder: Yes, alright. Make a sentence out of the following words: face, sodding, your, shut.
Lord Melchett: For god's sake, man! We must do something to relieve our minds of the terrible fate that awaits us!
Blackadder: Awaits you, Melchy, not me. How's my beard looking?
Lord Melchett: Oh, alas! Shall I never see England more? Her rolling fields, her swooping swallows...
Blackadder: And her playful sheep.

Prince Ludwig: [reading the Queen's reply to his ransom letter] After long and careful deliberation, the Qveen has decided to spend the ransom money on...
[cut to the Queen writing the rest of the letter]
Queen: "...a big party. Just impossible to decide between my two faves, so I've decided to keep the cash, have a whizzy jolly time, and try to forget both of you. Hope you're not too miffed. Bye-ee!"
[cut back to the prison]
Blackadder: What?!
Prince Ludwig: "Hope you're not too miffed. Bye-ee!"

Prince Ludwig: My friends, I come to bid you farewell. These guards will ewentually die of old age, but their sons will, I'm sure, go on attending to your needs. With your information, gentlemen, I intend to overthrow your qveen and country. The Master of Disguise will become The Master of the World!
Blackadder: Yes, one thing, Ludwig, just before you go?
Prince Ludwig: Yes?
Blackadder: Were you ever bullied at school?
Prince Ludwig: What do you mean?
Blackadder: Well, all this ranting and raving about power, there must be some reason for it.
Prince Ludwig: Nonsense. No, at my school, having dirty hair and spots was a sign of maturity.
Blackadder: I thought so! And I bet your mother made you wear shorts all the way up to your final year.
Prince Ludwig: Shut up! Shut up! When I am King of England, no one will ever dare call me "Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot" again! [leaves]
Blackadder: Touched a nerve there, I think.
Lord Melchett: What good is it going to do us if we're doomed to rot here until we die?!
Blackadder: Don't worry, I have a plan.
Lord Melchett: Really?
Blackadder: Yes. Now that Ludwig's gone, we should have no trouble overcoming the guards. Germans are sticklers for efficiency, and I've been watching their routine. I have selected the moment when they are at their most vulnerable. That is when we will attack.
Lord Melchett: Brilliant! How?
Blackadder: That is the most cunning bit.

[At the Queen's party, she comes dressed as her father, King Henry VIII]
Queen: [deep voice] Yo ho ho, off with their heads!
Percy: Ma'am, it is brilliant! Your father is born again!
Queen: [normal voice] Let's bally well hope not, or else I won't be queen anymore.

Prince Ludwig: Ah, Qveen Elizabeth, we meet again.
Queen: Um, I don't think so, actually.
Prince Ludwig: Yes, you remember when you were young, and your father used to take you riding on a magnificent grey pony that you used to kiss and fondle in the stable yards?
Queen: [embarrassed] Yes, yes!
Prince Ludwig: I... I was the tall and attractive German stable lad who held him.
Queen: [shocked] No!
Prince Ludwig: Yes!
Queen: You?
Prince Ludwig: Uh-huh!
Queen: Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot?
Prince Ludwig: NO! No, no, no! You will, all of you, regret the day that you ever mocked my complexion! I shall return and wreak my rewengee!

Percy: Welcome, Edmund. Did you... miss me?
Blackadder: I certainly did. Many is the time I said to myself "I wish Percy was here..."
Percy: [ecstatic] Oh!
Blackadder: "...being tortured instead of me."
Percy: [still ecstatic] Oh, we have missed your wit!
Baldrick: Did you miss me, my lord?
Blackadder: Um... Baldrick, is it?
Baldrick: That's right.
Blackadder: No, not really.
Queen: And me? Did you miss me, Edmund?
Blackadder: Madame, life without you was like a broken pencil.
Queen: [confused] Explain...?
Blackadder: Pointless.

Blackadder the ThirdEdit

Dish and DishonestyEdit

Blackadder: Well, Mrs Miggins, at last we can return to sanity. The hustings are over, the bunting is down, the mad hysteria is at an end. After the chaos of a general election, we can return to normal.
Mrs Miggins: Has there been a general election, Mr Blackadder?
Blackadder: Indeed there has, Mrs Miggins.
Mrs Miggins: I didn't hear of it.
Blackadder: Of course you didn't. You're not eligible to vote.
Mrs Miggins: Why not?
Blackadder: Because virtually no one is - women... peasants... [gestures to Baldrick] Chimpanzees... lunatics... lords.
Baldrick: That's not true - Lord Nelson's got a vote.
Blackadder: He's got a boat, Baldrick. Marvellous thing, democracy. Look at Manchester - population: sixty-thousand, electoral roll: three.
Mrs Miggins: I may have a brain the size of a sultana...
Blackadder: Correct.
Mrs Miggins: ...But it hardly seems fair to me.
Blackadder: Of course it's not fair, and a damn good thing too - give the like of Baldrick the vote and we'll be back to cavorting with druids, death by stoning and dung for dinner.
Baldrick: I'm having dung for dinner tonight.
Mrs Miggins: So, who are they electing when they have these elections?
Blackadder: Oh, the same old shower. Fat Tory landowners who get made MPs when they reach a certain weight. Raving revolutionaries who think just because they do a day's work that somehow gives them the right to get paid. Basically, it's a right old mess: toffs at the top, plebs at the bottom and me in the middle making a fat pile of cash out of both of them.
Mrs Miggins: You'd better watch out, Mr Blackadder - things are bound to change.
Blackadder: Not while Pitt the Elder's Prime Minister, they aren't. He's about as effective as a cat flap in an elephant house. As long as his feet are warm and he gets a nice cup of milky tea in the sun before his morning nap, he doesn't bother anyone until his potty needs emptying.

Blackadder: Your Highness, if I may make so bold, a major crisis has arisen in your affairs.
Prince George: Yes, I know, Blackadder, I've been pondering it all morning.
Blackadder: You have, sir?
Prince George: Yes. Socks - run out again! Why is it that no matter how many millions of pairs of socks I buy, I never seem to have any?
Blackadder: Sir, with your forgiveness, there is another, even weightier problem.
Prince George: They just disappear! Honestly, you'd think someone was coming in here, stealing the damn things and then selling them off!
Blackadder: [chuckles] Impossible, sir - only you and I have access to your socks.
Prince George: Yes, that's true. Still, for me, socks are like sex - tons of it about, but I never seem to get any.
Blackadder: If we could return to the business at hand, I read fearful news in this morning's paper.
Prince George: Oh no. Not another little cat caught up in a tree?
Blackadder: No, sir, there is a vote afoot in the new parliament to strike you from the Civil List.
Prince George: [dismissively] Oh, yes, yes, yes. But what are they gonna do about my socks?
Blackadder: Sir, if this bill goes through, you won't have any socks.
Prince George: Well, I haven't got any socks at the moment!
Blackadder: ...Or trousers, shirts, waistcoats or pantaloons - they're going to bankrupt you.
Prince George: They can't do that! Why, the public love me! Only the other day, I was out in the street and they sang "We hail Prince George! We hail Prince George!"
Blackadder: "We hate Prince George", sir - "We hate Prince George".
Prince George: Was it really?
Blackadder: I'm afraid so, sir. However, all is not lost. Fortunately, the numbers in the Commons are exactly equal - if we can get one more MP to support us, then we are safe.
Prince George: Well, hurrah! Any ideas?
Blackadder: Yes, sir. There is one man who might just be the ace up our sleeve: a rather crusty, loud-mouthed ace named Sir Talbot Buxomly.
Prince George: Never heard of him.
Blackadder: That's hardly surprising, sir. Sir Talbot has the worst attendance record of any member of parliament. On the one occasion he did enter the House of Commons, he passed water in the Great Hall, and then passed out in the Speaker's Chair. But if we can get him to support us, then we are safe.
Prince George: What's he like?
Blackadder: Well, according to Who's Who, his interests include flogging servants, shooting poor people, and the extension of slavery to anyone who hasn't got a knighthood.
Prince George: Excellent! Sensible policies for a happier Britain.
Blackadder: However, if we want his support, he will need some sort of incentive.
Prince George: Such as?
Blackadder: Well, you could appoint him a High Court Judge.
Prince George: Is he qualified?
Blackadder: He's a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.
Prince George: Sounds a bit over-qualified. Well, get him here at once.
Blackadder: Certainly, sir. I shall return before you can say 'antidisestablishmentarianism'.
Prince George: Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that! [tries to announce the word spoken by Blackadder] Antidistibilitsmin... anti-misty-linstimbl... [two days later] Anti-disinctly-minty-money...
Blackadder: [enters, accompanied by Sir Talbot Buxomly] Your Highness, Sir Talbot Buxomly, MP.
Prince George: Ah, Buxomly! Roaring happy to have you here. How are you, Sir?
Sir Talbot Buxomly: Heartily well, Your Highness! I dined hugely off a servant before I came into town.
Prince George: Uh... you eat your servants?
Sir Talbot Buxomly: No, sir - I eat off them - why should I spend good money on tables when I have men standing idle?
Prince George: Why indeed? Now, I'm sure you've heard of Mister Pitt's intentions-
Sir Talbot Buxomly: Young scallywag!
Prince George: Ah, so you don't approve of his plans to abolish me, then?
Sir Talbot Buxomly: I do not, sir! Damn his eyes! Damn his britches! Damn his duck pond!
Prince George: Well, hurrah for that.
Sir Talbot Buxomly: I care not a jot that you are the son of a certified sauerkraut-sucking loon. It minds not me that you dress like a mad parrot and talk like a plate of beans negotiating their way out of a cow's digestive system. It is no skin off my rosy nose that there are bits of lemon peel floating down the Thames that would make better regents than you! The fact is... you are Regent [Prince George in the background: Yes, I am...] appointed by God, and I shall stick by you forever, though infirmity lay me waste and ill-health curse my every waking moment! [sits down in a chair opposite to the Prince]
Prince George: Well, good on you, sir. And don't talk to me about infirmity. Why, sir, you are the hardy stock that is the core of Britain's greatness! [Blackadder notices something wrong with Sir Talbot and walks over to have a look] You have the physique of a demigod, purple of cheek, plump of fetlock, the shapely ankle on the well-filled trouser that tells of a human body in perfect working order!
Blackadder: [checking Sir Talbot's pulse] He's dead, sir.
Prince George: Dead?
Blackadder: Yes, Your Highness.
Prince George: Oh, what hard luck. We were rather getting on.
Blackadder: We must move at once.
Prince George: In which direction?
Blackadder: Sir Talbot represented the constituency of Dunny-on-the-World, and by an extraordinary stroke of luck, it is a Rotten Borough.
Prince George: Really? Is it? Well, lucky lucky us. Lucky lucky luck. [starts to briefly behave like a chicken with his speech] Luck-luck lakk-lakk-lakk-lakk-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-lakk-lakk-lakk!
Blackadder: You don't know what a Rotten Borough is, do you, Sir?
Prince George: No.
Blackadder: So what was the chicken impression in aid of?
Prince George: Well, I just didn't want to hurt your feelings.

Blackadder: Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. "Name"?
Blackadder & Baldrick: Baldrick.
Blackadder: First name?
Baldrick: I'm not sure.
Blackadder: You must have some idea.
Baldrick: Well, it might be Sodoff.
Blackadder: What?
Baldrick: Well, when I used to play in the gutter, I used to say to the other snipes "Hello, my name's Baldrick", and they'd say "Yes, we know. Sod off, Baldrick".
Blackadder: ...All right, right, right, right. "Mr S. Baldrick". Now then, "Distinguishing features"... None.
Baldrick: Well, I've got this big growth in the middle of my face.
Blackadder: That's your nose, Baldrick. "Any history of insanity in the family?" I'll cross out the "in". [he does this act] "Any history of sanity in the family?" ... None whatsoever. "Criminal record?"
Baldrick: Absolutely not.
Blackadder: Oh, come on, Baldrick, you're going to be an MP, for God's sake! I'll just put "Fraud and sexual deviancy". Now, "Minimum bribe level?"
Baldrick: One turnip. Oh, hang on, I don't want to price myself out of the market.
Blackadder: Baldrick, I've always been meaning to ask: do you have any ambitions in life apart from the acquisition of turnips?
Baldrick: Uh, no.
Blackadder: So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?
Baldrick: [grins] I'd get a little turnip of my own.
Blackadder: So what would you do if I gave you a million pounds?
Baldrick: Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big turnip in the country.

Blackadder: [enters, accompanied by Pitt the Younger] Your Highness, Pitt the Younger.
Prince George: Why, hello there, young shaver m'lad! Say, I have a shiny sixpence for the clever fellow who can tell which hand it's in. [Pitt doesn't respond] Oh, school, school. On half hols, is it? I bet you can't wait to get that bat back in your hand and give those balls a good walloping, eh?
Blackadder: Mister Pitt is the Prime Minister, sir.
Prince George: Oh, go on! Is he? What, young Snotty here?
Pitt the Younger: I'd rather have a runny nose than a runny brain.
Prince George: Eh?
Blackadder: Excuse me, Mister Prime Minister, but we have some lovely jelly in the pantry - I don't know if you'd be interested at all.
Pitt the Younger: Don't patronise me, you lower middle class yobbo. What flavour is it?
Blackadder: Blackcurrant.
Pitt the Younger: EURGH!
Prince George: I say, Blackadder, are you sure this is the PM? Seems like a bit of an oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five of his sort, make them bend over, and use them as a toast rack!
Pitt the Younger: You don't surprise me, sir - I know your sort. Once, it was I who stood in a cold schoolroom, a hot crumpet burning my cheeks with shame. But since that day, I have worked every hour God sends to become Prime Minister, and fight sloth and privilege wherever I find it!
Blackadder: I trust you weren't too busy to remove the crumpet.
Pitt the Younger: You will regret this, gentlemen! You think you can thwart my plans to bankrupt the Prince by winning the Dunny-On-The-Wold by-election.. but you will be thrashed! I intend to put my own brother up as a candidate against you.
Blackadder: And which Pitt would this be? Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt the Glint in the Milkman's Eye?
Pitt the Younger: Sirs, as I said to Chancellor Metternich at the Convent of Strasbourg, pooh to you with knobs on! We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings! [leaves]
Prince George: I say, Blackadder, what a ghastly squit! He's not gonna win, is he?
Blackadder: No, sir, because, firstly, we shall be fighting this campaign on issues, not personalities. Secondly, we shall be the only fresh thing on the menu. And thirdly, of course, we'll cheat!

[Baldrick has become the new MP for Dunny-On-The-Wold]
Blackadder: We are reprieved. It is a triumph for stupidity over common sense.
Baldrick: Thank you very much.
Blackadder: As a reward, Baldrick, take a short holiday. Did you enjoy it? Right. Back to work.

Ink and IncapabilityEdit

Prince George: [waking suddenly] Oh, Blackadder! BLACKADDER! [Blackadder walks in]
Blackadder: Your Highness?
Prince George: What time is it!?
Blackadder: Three o'clock in the afternoon, sire.
Prince George: [relieved] Oh thank God for that, I thought I'd overslept!
Blackadder: I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir?
Prince George: Well, no, actually. The most extraordinary thing happened. Last night I was having a bit of a snack at the Naughty Hellfire Club, and some fellow said that I had the wit and sophistication of a donkey!
Blackadder: An absurd suggestion, sir.
Prince George: You're right, it is absurd.
Blackadder: Unless, of course, it was a particularly stupid donkey.
Prince George: See, if only I'd thought of that.
Blackadder: It is all too often, sir, that one thinks of what one should have said long after he might have said it. Sir Thomas More, for instance, beheaded for refusing to recant his Catholicism, must have been kicking himself as the axe came down that it never occurred to him to say "I recant my Catholicism."
Prince George: Yes. Only the other day, Prime Minister Pitt called me an idle scrounger. And it wasn't until ages later that I thought how clever it would have been to have said "Oh, bugger off, you old fart!". I want to improve my mind, Blackadder. I want people to say "That George, he's as clever as a stick in a bucket of pig swill!".
Blackadder: And how do you suggest this miracle be achieved, sir?
Prince George: Easy. I shall become best friends with the cleverest man in England. That renowned brain-box, Doctor Samuel Johnson, has asked me to be patron of his new book, and I intend to accept.
Blackadder: Would this be the long-awaited dictionary?
Prince George: Who cares what it's called, as long as it's got plenty of juicy murders. I hear it's a masterpiece.
Blackadder: No, sir. It's the most pointless book since How To Learn French was translated into French.
Prince George: You haven't got anything personal against Johnson, have you, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Not at all, sir. In fact, I had never heard of him until you mentioned him just now.
Prince George: But you do think he's a genius, don't you?
Blackadder: No, sir, I do not. Unless, of course, the definition of 'genius' in his ridiculous dictionary is "A fat dullard or wobblebottom. A pompous ass with sweaty dew flaps."
Prince George: Close shave there, then. Lucky you warned me, Blackadder. I was about to embrace this unholy arse to the royal bosom.
Blackadder: I am delighted to have been instrumental in keeping your bosom free of arses.
Prince George: Bravo. Don't want to waste my time with wobblebottoms. Fetch some tea, will you?
Blackadder: Yes, sir.
Prince George: Oh, and make it two cups, would you? That splendid brain-box, Doctor Johnson, is coming over.
Blackadder: Certainly, sir.

Blackadder: [reading Baldrick's 'novel'] "Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called Baldrick, and it lived happily ever after."
Baldrick: It's semi-autobiographical.
Blackadder: And it's completely, utterly awful. Doctor Johnson will probably love it.

Prince George: So, Doctor Johnson, sit ye down. Now, this book of yours, what's it about?
Doctor Johnson: It is a book about the English language, sir.
Prince George: I see. And the hero's name is what?
Doctor Johnson: There's no hero.
Prince George: No hero? Lucky I reminded you, then. Uh, call him George. 'George' is a nice name for a hero. Now, what about heroines?
Doctor Johnson: There is no heroine, sir, unless it is our mother tongue.
Prince George: The mother's the heroine? Nice twist. So, how far have we got? Old Mother Tongue is in love with George the Hero. Now, what about murders? Mother Tongue doesn't get murdered, does she?
Doctor Johnson: No, she doesn't. No one gets murdered, or married, or in a tricky situation over a pound note!
Prince George: Now, Doctor Johnson, I may be as thick as a whale omelette, but even I know a book's got to have a plot.
Doctor Johnson: Not this one, sir. It is a book that tells you what English words mean.
Prince George: I know what English words mean. I speak English. You must be a bit of a thicko.
Doctor Johnson: Perhaps you would rather not be patron of my book if you can see no value in it whatsoever, sir.
Prince George: Well, perhaps so, sir! Because it seems to me that my being patron of this complete cowpat of a book will set to seal, once and for all, my reputation as an utter turnip head!
Doctor Johnson: It is a reputation well-deserved, sir! Farewell!

Blackadder: Baldrick, where's the manuscript?
Baldrick: You mean the big papery thing tied up with string?
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, the manuscript belonging to Doctor Johnson.
Baldrick: You mean the baity fellow in the black coat who just left?
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, Doctor Johnson.
Baldrick: So you're asking where the big papery thing tied up with string belong to the baity fellow in the black coat who just left is?
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, I am. And if you don't answer, then the booted boney thing with five toes on the end of my leg will soon connect sharply with the soft dangly collection of objects in your trousers. For the last time, Baldrick, where is Doctor Johnson's manuscript?
Baldrick: On the fire.
Blackadder: On the what?
Baldrick: The hot orangey thing under the stoney mantlepiece.
Blackadder: You've burnt the dictionary?!
Baldrick: Well, you did say 'burn any old rubbish.'
Blackadder: Yes. Fine.

Lord Shelley: O lovelorn ecstasy that is Mrs Miggins, wilt thou bring me but one cup of the browned juicings of that naughty bean we call coffee, 'ere I die?
Mrs Miggins: Oh, you do have a way with words about you, Mr Shelley!
Lord Byron: To hell with this fine talk! Coffee, woman! My consumption grows ever more acute, and Coleridge's drugs are wearing off!
Mrs Miggins: Oh, Mr Byron, don't be such a big girl's blouse!

Blackadder: Sir, I have been unable to replace the dictionary. I am therefore leaving immediately for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat.
Prince George: Why?
Blackadder: Because if I stay here, Doctor Johnson and his companions will have me brutally murdered.
Prince George: Good god, Blackadder, that's terrible! Do you know any other butlers?
Blackadder: Of course, when the people discover that you have burnt Doctor Johnson's dictionary, they may go around saying "Look, there's Thick George. He's got a brain the size of a weasel's wedding tackle."
Prince George: Well, in that case, something must be done!
Baldrick: I have a cunning plan, sir.
Prince George: Hurrah! Well, that's that, then.
Blackadder: I wouldn't get too excited, sir. I have a strong suspicion Baldrick's plan will be the stupidest thing we've heard since Lord Nelson's famous signal at the Battle of the Nile - "England knows Lady Hamilton is a virgin. Poke my eye out and cut off my arm if I'm wrong."
Prince George: Great. Let's hear it.
Baldrick: It's brilliant. You take the string - that's still not completely burnt - you scrape off the soot, and you shove the pages in again.
Blackadder: Which pages?
Baldrick: Well, not the same ones, of course-
Blackadder: Yes, I think I'm on the verge of spotting the flaw in this plan. But do go on. Which pages?
Baldrick: Well, this is the brilliant bit - you write some new ones.
Blackadder: Some new ones. You mean rewrite the dictionary. I sit down tonight and rewrite the dictionary that took Doctor Johnson ten years.
Baldrick: Yup.
Blackadder: Baldrick, that is by far and away, and without a shadow of doubt, the worst and most contemptible plan in the history of the universe. On the other hand, I hear the sound of disemboweling cutlasses being sharpened, and it's the only plan we've got.

Prince George: We didn't take no for an answer and have, in fact, been working all night. I've done 'B'.
Blackadder: Really? And how far have you gotten?
Prince George: Well, I had a bit of trouble with 'belching', but I think I got it sorted out in the end. [burps] Oh no! There I go again! [laughs]
Blackadder: You've been working on that joke for some time, haven't you, sir?
Prince George: Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have.
Blackadder: Since you started?
Prince George: Basically.
Blackadder: So, in fact, you haven't done any work at all?
Prince George: Not as such.
Blackadder: Great. Baldrick, what have you done?
Baldrick: I've done 'C' and 'D'.
Blackadder: Right, let's have it then.
Baldrick: Right. "Big, blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in."
Blackadder: What's that?
Baldrick: 'Sea'.
Blackadder: Yes. Tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren't high. What about 'D'?
Baldrick: I'm quite pleased with 'dog'.
Blackadder: Yes, and your definition of 'dog' is?
Baldrick: "Not a cat."
Blackadder: Excellent. Excellent! Your Highness, may I have a word?
Prince George: Certainly.
Blackadder: As you know, sir, it has always been my intention to stay with you until you had a strapping son, and I one likewise to take over the burdens of my duties.
Prince George: That's right, Blackadder, and I thank you for it.
Blackadder: But I'm afraid, sir, there's been a change in plans. I'm off to the kitchen to hack my head off with a big knife.
Prince George: Oh, come on, Blackadder! It's only a book! Let's just damn the fellow's eyes, strip the britches from his backside and ward his heels to Putney Bridge! Hurrah!
Blackadder: Sir, these are not the days of Alfred the Great. You can't just lop someone's head off and blame it on the vikings.
Prince George: Can't I, by god?
Blackadder: No.
Prince George: Alright then, well, just get on with it! I mean, boil my brains, it's only a dictionary. No one's asked us to eat ten raw pigs for breakfast. Good lord, I mean, we're British, aren't we? [exits]
Blackadder: [sotto] You're not, you're German. Get me some coffee, Baldrick. If I fall asleep before Monday, we're doomed.

Lord Shelley: Ho, sir, bring out the dictionary at once!
Lord Byron: Bring it out, sir, or in my passion, I shall kill everyone by giving them syphilis!
Lord Coleridge: Bring it out, sir, and also any opium plants you have in there with you!
Doctor Samuel Johnson: Bring it out, sir, or we shall break down the door!
Blackadder: Ah, good morning, Dr. Johnson, Lord Byron-
Doctor Johnson: Where is my dictionary?
Blackadder: And what dictionary would this be?
[Johnson, Byron, Shelley and Coleridge advance on Blackadder with swords drawn to the tune of an ominous drumbeat]
Doctor Johnson: [outraged] The one that has taken me eighteen hours of every day for the past ten years! My mother died, I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it in garlic in the hopes of attracting my attention; I scarcely looked up from my work! My wife brought armies of lovers to the house, who worked in droves so that she might bring up a huge family of bastards! I cared not!
Blackadder: [cornered] Am I to assume that my elaborate bluff has not worked?
Doctor Johnson: Dictionary!
Blackadder: Right, well, the truth is - now, don't get cross, don't over-react - the truth is: we burnt it.
Doctor Johnson: Then you die!
Prince George: Morning, everyone. Ah, Doctor Johnson. You know, this dictionary really is a cracking good read!
Doctor Johnson: My dictionary... [to Blackadder] But you said you burnt it!
Blackadder: Um...
Prince George: I think it's a splendid book, and I look forward to patronising it enormously!
Doctor Johnson: Oh, thank you, sir. Well, I think I'm man enough to sacrifice the pleasure of killing to maintain the general good humour. There is to be no murder today, gentlemen.
Shelley, Byron and Coleridge: [grumble]
Doctor Johnson: But retire to Mrs Miggins'! I shall join you there later for a roister you shan't forget!
Shelley, Byron and Coleridge: Hurrah! [leave]
Doctor Johnson: So, tell me, what words particularly interested you?
Prince George: Oh, nothing. Anything, really.
Doctor Johnson: I see you've underlined a few. "Bloomers"? "Bottom"? "Burp"? [leafs through the pages] "Fart"? "Fiddle"? "Fornicate"? Sir, I hope you are not using the first English dictionary to look up rude words!
Blackadder: I wouldn't be too hopeful. That's what all the others will be used for.
Baldrick: [to Blackadder] Sir, can I look up 'turnip'?
Blackadder: 'Turnip' isn't a rude word, Baldrick.
Baldrick: It is if you sit on one.

Blackadder: Baldrick, fetch my novel.
Baldrick: Your novel?
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, the big papery thing tied up with string.
Baldrick: Like the thing we burnt?
Blackadder: Exactly like the thing we burnt.
Baldrick: So you're asking for the big papery thing tied up with string exactly like the thing we burnt?
Blackadder: Exactly.
Baldrick: We burnt it.
Blackadder: So we did. Thank you, Baldrick. Seven years of my life up in smoke.

Doctor Johnson: [reading Baldrick's 'novel'] "Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called-" Sausage? Sausage?! Oh, blast your eyes! [crumples it up, throws it to the ground and storms out.]
Baldrick: Oh, I didn't think it was that bad.
Blackadder: I think you'll find he left 'sausage' out of his dictionary, Baldrick. Oh, and 'aardvark'.

Nob and NobilityEdit

Blackadder: Morning, Mrs Miggins.
Mrs Miggins: Bonjour, monsieur.
Blackadder: [disgusted] What?
Mrs Miggins: Bonjour, monsieur. It's French.
Blackadder: So is eating frogs, cruelty to geese and urinating in the street. But that's no reason to inflict it on the rest of us.
Mrs Miggins: But French is all the fashion! My coffee shop is full of Frenchies, and it's all because of that wonderful Scarlet Pimpernel!
Blackadder: The Scarlet Pimpernel is not wonderful, Mrs Miggins. There is no reason whatsoever to admire someone for filling London with a bunch of garlic-chewing French toffs, crying "Oh-la-la" and looking for sympathy all the time just cos their fathers had their heads cut off. I'll have a cup of coffee, and some shepherd's pie.
Mrs Miggins: Oh, we don't serve pies any more! My French clientèle consider pies uncouth.
Blackadder: I hardly think a nation that eats snails and would go to bed with the kitchen sink if it put on a tutu is in any position to preach couthness. So what is on the menu?
Mrs Miggins: Well, today's hot choice is Chicken Pimpernel in a Scarlet Sauce, Scarlet Chicken in a Pimpernel Sauce, or Huge Suspicious-Looking Sausages in a Scarlet Pimpernel Sauce.
Blackadder: What exactly is Scarlet Pimpernel Sauce?
Mrs Miggins: You take a large ripe frog, you squeeze it-
Blackadder: Yes, alright. I'm off to the pub.
French Aristocrat: Ah, bonjour, monsieur.
Blackadder: Sod off.

Prince George: What a shame they were so busy. Would've been lovely to have had them with us.
Blackadder: Us?
Prince George: Yes.
Blackadder: You're coming, sir?
Prince George: Well, certainly!
Blackadder: Ah. And nothing I can say about the mind-bending horrors of the Revolution could put you off?
Prince George: Absolutely not. Now come on, Blackadder. Let's get packing. I want to look my best for those fabulous French birds!
Blackadder: Sir, the type of women favoured in France at the moment are toothless old crones who cackle insanely.
Prince George: Oh, ignore that. They're just playing hard to get.
Blackadder: By removing all their teeth, going mad and aging forty years?
Prince George: That's right, the little teases. Now, come on. Um, I think a blend of silks and satins.
Blackadder: Sir, if we are to stand any chance of survival in France, we shall have to dress as the smelliest lowlifes imaginable.
Prince George: What sort of thing?
Blackadder: Well, sir, let me show you our Paris collection - Baldrick is wearing a sheep's bladder jacket with matching dungball accessories. Hair by Crazy Meg of Bedlam Way. Notice how the overwhelming aroma of rotting pilchards has been woven cunningly into the ensemble. Baldrick, when did you last change your trousers?
Baldrick: [as if rehearsed] I have never changed my trousers.
Blackadder: Thank you, Baldrick. [To Prince George] You see, the Ancient Greeks, sir, wrote in legend of a terrible container in which all the evils of the world were trapped. How prophetic they were. All they got wrong was the name. They called it "Pandora's Box", when, of course, they meant "Baldrick's Trousers".
Baldrick: They certainly can get a bit whiffy, there's no doubt about that.
Blackadder: We are told that, when the box was opened, the whole world turned to darkness and misfortune because of Pandora's fatal curiosity. [to Baldrick] I charge you now, Baldrick: for the good of all mankind, never allow curiosity to lead you to open your trousers. Nothing of interest lies therein. [To Prince George] However, Your Highness, it is trousers exactly like these that you will have to wear if we are to pass safely into France.
Prince George: Yes, well... you know, on second thoughts, I might give this whole thing a miss. My tummy's acting up a bit. Wish I could come, but just not pos' with this tum.
Blackadder: I understand perfectly, sir.
Prince George: Also, the chances of me scoring if I look and smell like him are zero.
Blackadder: Well, that's true, sir. We shall return presently to bid you farewell.
Baldrick: Mr B, I've been having seconds thoughts about this trip to France.
Blackadder: Oh, why?
Baldrick: Well, as far as I can see, looking and smelling like this, there's not much chance of me scoring either.

Blackadder: Farewell, dear master and - if I dare say it - friend.
Prince George: Farewell, brave liberator and - if I dare say it - butler.

Blackadder: Right, stick the kettle on, Baldrick.
Baldrick: Aren't we going to France?
Blackadder: Of course we're not going to France. It's incredibly dangerous!
Baldrick: Then how are you gonna win your bet?
Blackadder: As always, Baldrick, by the use of the large thing between my ears.
Baldrick: Oh, your nose.
Blackadder: No, Baldrick. My brain. All we have to do is lie low here for a week, go to Mrs Miggins', pick up any old French aristocrat, drag him through a puddle, take him to the ball and claim our thousand guineas.
Baldrick: What if the prince finds us here?
Blackadder: He couldn't find his own fly buttons, let alone the kitchen door.

Blackadder: Le Comte de Frou Frou, I believe.
Le Comte de Frou Frou: Eh?
Blackadder: Do you speak English?
Le Comte de Frou Frou: A little.
Blackadder: Yes, when you say 'a little', what do you mean? I mean, can we talk, or are we going to spend the rest of the day asking each other the way to the beach in very loud voices?
Le Comte de Frou Frou: Oh no. I can order coffee, deal with waiters, make sexy chit-chat with girls, that type of thing.
Blackadder: Oh, good.
Le Comte de Frou Frou: Just don't ask me to take a physiology class or direct a light opera.
Blackadder: No, I won't. Now listen, Frou Frou, would you like to earn some money?
Le Comte de Frou Frou: No, I wouldn't. I would like other people to earn it and then give it to me, just like in France in the good old days.
Blackadder: Yes, but this is a chance to return to the good old days.
Le Comte de Frou Frou: Oh, I would love that! I hate this life. The food is filthy! This huge sausage is very suspicious. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a horse's-
Blackadder: Yes, yes, alright. The plan is this: I have a bet on with someone that I can get a Frenchman out of Paris. I want you to be that Frenchman. All you have to do is come to the embassy ball with me, say that I rescued you, and walk away with fifty guineas and all the vol-au-vents you can stuff in your pockets. What do you say?
Le Comte de Frou Frou: It will be a pleasure! If there is one thing we aristocrats enjoy, it is a fabulous party. Oh, the music! Oh, the laughter! If only I'd brought my mongoose costume.

Revolutionary Ambassador: Not so fast, English. In rescuing this... boite de stinkyweed, you have attempted to pervert Revolutionary justice. Do you know what happens to people who do that?
Blackadder: They're given a little present and allowed to go free?
Revolutionary Ambassador: No.
Blackadder: They're smacked and told not to be naughty, but basically let off?
Revolutionary Ambassador: No.
Baldrick: I think I know.
Blackadder: What?
Baldrick: They're put in prison for the night and brutally guillotined in the morning.
Blackadder: Well done, Baldrick.
Revolutionary Ambassador: Your little g-nome is correct, Monsieur. Gentlemen, welcome to the last day of your life!

Baldrick: I'm glad to say I don't think you'll be needing those pills, Mr B.
Blackadder: Am I jumping the gun, Baldrick, or are the words "I have a cunning plan" marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?
Baldrick: They certainly are.
Blackadder: Well, forgive me if I don't jump and and down with glee. Your record in this department is not one hundred percent. So what's the plan?
Baldrick: We do nothing.
Blackadder: Yup, it's another world-beater.
Baldrick: I haven't finished. We do nothing until our heads have actually been cut off.
Blackadder: And then we spring into action?
Baldrick: Exactly. You know how, when you cut a chicken's head off, it runs 'round and 'round the farmyard?
Blackadder: Yes...
Baldrick: Well, we wait until our heads have been cut off, then we run 'round and 'round the farmyard, out the farm gate and escape. What do you think?
Blackadder: Yes, my opinion is rather difficult to express in words, so perhaps I can put it this way. [twists Baldrick's nose]
Baldrick: It doesn't really matter, 'cause the Scarlet Pimpernel will save us anyway.
Blackadder: No he won't, Baldrick! Either I think of an idea, or tomorrow we die. Which I have no intention of doing, because I want to be young and wild, then I want to be middle-aged and rich, then I want to be old and annoy people by pretending that I'm deaf.

Sense and SenilityEdit

Baldrick: You look smart, Mr Blackadder. Going somewhere nice?
Blackadder: Nope, I'm off to the theatre.
Baldrick: Oh, don't you like it, then?
Blackadder: No I don't! A load of stupid actors strutting around, shouting with their chests thrust out so far you'd think their nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants. And the worst thing about it is having to go with Prince Minibrain.
Baldrick: Doesn't he like it either?
Blackadder: No, he loves it, but he doesn't realise it's made-up. Last year, when Brutus was about to kill Julius Caesar, the prince yelled out "Look behind you, Mr Caesar!"
Baldrick: I can't see the point in the theatre. All that sex and violence. I get enough of that at home. Apart from the sex, obviously.
Blackadder: And while we're out, Baldrick, I want you to give this palace a good clean. It's so dirty, it would be unacceptable to a dung beetle that had lost interest in its' career and really let itself go.
Prince George: (from upstairs) Come on, Blackadder, or we'll miss the first act!
Blackadder: Coming, sir, as fast as I can! Stick the kettle on, Baldrick.

Prince George: (bandaged up after an assassination attempt) I must say, Blackadder, that was a close shave. Why on earth would an anarchist possibly want to kill you?
Blackadder: I think it might have been you he was after, sir.
Prince George: Oh, hogwash! What on earth makes you say that?
Blackadder: Well, my suspicions were aroused by his use of the words "Death to the stupid prince!"
Prince George: That was a bit rude, wasn't it?
Blackadder: These are volatile times, your Highness. The American Revolution lost your father the Colonies, the French Revolution murdered brave King Louis and there are tremendous rumblings in Prussia, although that might have something to do with the sausages. The whole world cries out "Peace, freedom and a few less fat bastards eating all the pie!".
(Prince George looks down at the plate of pie in his hands and puts it to one side.)
Prince George: Yes, you're right. Something must be done! Any ideas?
Blackadder: Yes, sir. Next week is your royal father's birthday celebrations. I suggest I write a brilliant speech for you to recite in order to show the oppressed masses how unusually sensitive you are.
Prince George: Tell me about these oppressed masses. What are they so worked up about?
Blackadder: They are worked up, sir, because they are so poor, they are forced to have children simply to provide a cheap alternative to turkey at Christmas. Disease and deprivation stalk our land like... two giant stalking things. And the working man is poised to overthrow us.
(Baldrick walks in, carrying a mop and bucket.)
Prince George: Oh my god, and here he is!
Blackadder: Don't be silly, sir. That's Baldrick, my dogsbody.
Prince George: What's silly about that? He looks like an oppressed mass to me. Get him out of here at once!
Blackadder: Shoo, Baldrick. Carry on with your cleaning elsewhere. And by tonight, I want that table so clean I could eat my dinner off it.

Blackadder: Mrs Miggins, I'm looking for a couple of actors.
Mrs Miggins: Well, you've come to the right place, Mr B. There's more Shakespearean dialogue in here then there are buns. All my lovely actors pop in here on their way to rehearsals for a little cup of coffee and a big dollop of inspiration.
Blackadder: You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they just got drunk, stuck on a silly hat and trusted to luck.
Mrs Miggins: Ooh, no! There's ever so much work that goes into the wonderful magic that is theatre today. Still, I wouldn't expect you to understand, being only a butler.
Blackadder: They do say, Mrs M, that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain. They are, of course, wrong, as you will soon discover when I stick this toasting fork in your head.
Keanrick: Ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome Mr David Keanrick!
Mrs Miggins: Oh, hurrah!
Mossop: And the fabulous Enoch Mossop!
Mrs Miggins: Gentlemen!
Keanrick: Ah, settle down. Settle down.
Mossop: I'm sorry, no autographs.
Keanrick: The usual, Mrs M.
Mrs Miggins: Ooh, coming up, my lovelies!
Blackadder: If I could just squeeze through this admiring rabble. Gentlemen, I've come with a proposition.
Mossop: How dare you, sir! You think, just because we're actors, we sleep with everyone!
Blackadder: I think, being actors, you're lucky to sleep with anyone. I come on behalf of my employer to ask for some elocution lessons.
Keanrick: I'm afraid that is impossible, sir. We are in the middle of rehearsing our new play. We cannot possibly upset our beloved audience by taking time off.
Mossop: Mmm. Mustn't upset the punters. Bums on seat, laddie. Bums on seats.
Blackadder: And what play is this?
Mossop: It is a piece we penned ourselves, called "The Bloody Murder of the Foul Prince Romero and his Enormous-Bosomed Wife"
Blackadder: A philosophical work, then?
Keanrick: Indeed yes, sir. The violence of the murder and the vastness of the bosom are entirely justified artistically.
Blackadder: Very well, I'll tell the prince you can't make it.
Keanrick: Prince?
Blackadder: Oh, did I forget to mention? It's the Prince Regent. Shame you can't make it. Still-
Mossop: No, no, no, sir! Please! I do think we can find some time, do you not, Mr Keanrick?
Keanrick: Definitely, Mr Mossop.
Blackadder: Oh, but you've got your beloved audience to think about.
Keanrick: Oh, sod the proles. We'll come.
Mossop: Yes. Worthless bastards to a man.
Blackadder: I'm glad to see artistic integrity thriving so strongly in the acting community. Well, this afternoon at four then, at the palace.

Prince George: Are you sure we can trust these acting chappies? Last time we went to the theatre, three of them murdered Julius Caesar. And one of them was his best friend, Brutus!
Blackadder: As I have told you about eight times, the man playing Julius Caesar was an actor called Kemp.
Prince George: Really?
Blackadder: [annoyed] Yes.
Prince George: Thundering gherkins! Brutus must have been pretty miffed when he found out.
Blackadder: What?
Prince George: That he hadn't killed Caesar after all. Just some poxy actor called Kemp. Do you think maybe he went to Caesar's place after the play and killed him then?
Blackadder: [sotto] Oh god, it's pathetic.

Baldrick: Something wrong, Mister B?
Blackadder: I've just about had it up to here with the prince! If he keeps this up, I'll be handing in my notice!
Baldrick: Ooh, does that mean I'll be butler?
Blackadder: Not unless some kindly passing surgeon cuts your head open with a spade and sticks a new brain in it. I don't know why I put up with it. I really don't. Every year at the Guild of Butlers Christmas party, I'm the one who has to wear the red nose and the pointy hat for winning the "Who's Got The Stupidest Master?" competition. All I can say is he'd better watch out. One more foot wrong and the contract between us will be as broken as this milk jug.
Baldrick: But that milk jug isn't broken.
Blackadder: You really do walk into these things, don't you, Baldrick?
(Blackadder smashes the milk jug over Baldrick's head.)

(Prince George prepares to practice his speech, clearing his throat.)
Keanrick: No, no, no, Your Royal Highness. What have you forgotten?
Prince George: Oh, now look, if I stand any more heroically than this, I'm in danger of seriously disappointing my future queen.
Keanrick: No, Your Highness, not the stance... the roar!
Prince George: You want me to roar?
Mossop: Of course we wish you to roar. All great orators roar before commencing their speeches. It is the way of things. Now, Mister Keanrick, from your Hamlet, please.
Keanrick: Ooooh, to be or not to be!
Mossop: From your Julius Caesar.
Keanrick: Ooooh, friends, Romans, countrymen!
Mossop: From your leading character in a play connected with Scotland.
Blackadder: That's Macbeth, isn't it?

Baldrick: Shall I get their supper, sir?
Blackadder: Yes. Preferably something that has first passed through the digestive system of the cat. And you'll have to take it up yourself.
Baldrick: Why?
Blackadder: Because I'm leaving, Baldrick. I'm about to enter the job market. [Picks up the newspaper] Right, let's see... Situations Vacant. Mr and Mrs Pitt are looking for a baby minder to take Pitt the Younger to parliament. Some fellow called George Stephenson has invented a moving kettle and wants someone to help with the marketing. Oh, there's a foreign opportunity. "Treacherous, malicious, unprincipled cad, preferably non-smoker, wanted to be King of Sardinia. No time-wasters, please. Apply Napoleon Bonaparte, PO Box 1, Paris." Right, we're on our way!

Blackadder: Baldrick, I would like to say how much I will miss your honest, friendly companionship...
Baldrick: [touched] Aw, thank you, Mister B.
Blackadder: ...but as we both know, it would be an utter lie. I will therefore content myself with saying "Sod off", and if I ever meet you again, it'll be 20 billion years too soon. [he leaves]
Baldrick: Goodbye, you lazy, big-nosed, rubber-faced bastard. [Blackadder re-enters the room]
Blackadder: I think, Baldrick, you will soon be eating those badly chosen words. I wouldn't bet a single groat that you could survive five minutes here without me.
Baldrick: Oh, come on, Mr B. It's not like we're gonna get murdered the minute you leave, is it?
Blackadder: Hope springs eternal, Baldrick.

Prince George: Thank god you're here! We desperately need you!
Blackadder: Me, sir? Mister Thicky Black Thicky Adder Thicky?
Prince George: Oh, tish, nonsense!
Blackadder: Mister Hopelessly Drivelly Can't-Write-For-Toffee Crappy Butler Weed?
Prince George: Yes, well...
Blackadder: Mister Brilliantly-Undervalued Butler Who Hasn't Had A Raise In A Fortnight?
Prince George: Take an extra thousand. Guineas? Per month?
Blackadder: Alright, what's your problem?

Amy and AmiabilityEdit

Baldrick: Don't you worry, Mr B. I have a cunning plan to solve your problem.
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, let us not forget you tried to solve the problem of your mother's low ceiling by cutting off her head.
Baldrick: But this is a really good one. You become a dashing highwayman, then you can pay all your bills, and on top of that, everyone'll want to sleep with you.
Blackadder: Baldrick, I could become a prostitute and pay my bills and everyone would want to sleep with me, but I do consider certain professions beneath me. Besides which, I fail to see why a common thief should be idolized just because he's got a horse between his legs.

[Blackadder learns that the prince, too, is broke.]
Blackadder: Let's see, you can't borrow money, you're not going to inherit any money, and, obviously, you can't earn money. Sir, drastic situations call for drastic measures. If you can't make money, you'll have to marry into it.
Prince George: Marry? Never! I'm a gay bachelor, Blackadder! I'm a roarer, a rogerer, a gorger and a puker! I can't marry. I'm young, I'm firm-buttocked, I'm-
Blackadder: Broke.
Prince George: Well, yes, I suppose so.
Blackadder: And don't forget, sir, that the modern church smiles on roaring and gorging within wedlock. And, indeed, rogering is keenly encouraged.
Prince George: And the puking?
Blackadder: Mmm, I believe still very much down to the conscience of the individual churchgoer.

Blackadder: [slams a large book shut] Oh god.
Baldrick: Something wrong, Mr B?
Blackadder: I can't find a single person suitable to marry the prince.
Baldrick: Oh, please keep trying. I love a royal wedding. The excitement, the crowds, the souvenir mugs. Worrying about whether the bride's lost weight.
Blackadder: Unlikely with this lot, I'm afraid. If the prince had stipulated "Must weigh a quarter of a tonne", we'd be laughing. Of the two-hundred and sixty-two princesses in Europe, a hundred and sixty-five are over eighty, they're out. Forty-seven are under ten, they're out. Thirty-nine are mad.
Baldrick: Well, they sound ideal.
Blackadder: Well, they would be if they hadn't all got married last week to the same horse. Which leave us with two.
Baldrick: What about them?
Blackadder: Well, there's Grand Duchess Sophia of Turin. We'll never get her to marry him.
Baldrick: Why not?
Blackadder: Because she's met him.
Baldrick: Which leaves?
Blackadder: Caroline of Brunswick is the only available princess in Europe.
Baldrick: What's wrong with her?
Blackadder: [suddenly shouting] Get more coffee! It's horrid, change it! Take me roughly from behind! No, not like that, like this! Trousers down! Tackle out! Walk the dog! Where's my presents?!
Baldrick: Alright! Which one do you want me to do first?
Blackadder: No, that's what Caroline's like. She's famous for having the worst personality in Germany. And as you can imagine, that's up against some pretty stiff competition.
Baldrick: So, you're stuck, then.
Blackadder: Yes, I am. Unless... pass me the paper, Baldrick. [opens it] Baldrick, why has half the front page been cut out?
Baldrick: I don't know.
Blackadder: You do know, don't you?
Baldrick: Yes.
Blackadder: You've been cutting out the cuttings about the elusive 'Shadow' to put in your highwayman's scrapbook, haven't you?
Baldrick: Oh, I can't help it, Mr B.! His life is so dark and shadowy and full of fear and trepidation!
Blackadder: So is going to the toilet in the middle of the night, but you don't keep a scrapbook on it.
Baldrick: I do!
Blackadder: Let's see, Society Pages. You see, it needn't necessarily be a princess. All the prince wants is someone pretty and rich.
Baldrick: Oh dear, that rules me out, then.
Blackadder: Let's see... "Beau Brummel in Purple Pants Probe." "King talks to Tree. Phew, what a Loony." God, The Times has really gone downhill recently. Aha! Listen to this. "Mysterious Northern beauty Miss Amy Hardwood comes to London and spends flipping great wodges of cash." That's our baby!

[Prince George dictates a letter to be sent to Amy Harwood]
Prince George: "From His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, to Miss Amy Hardwood. Tally ho, my fine, saucy young trollop! Your luck's in! Trip along here with all your cash, and some naughty night attire, and you'll be staring at my bedroom ceiling from now 'til Christmas, you lucky tart! Yours, with the deepest respects, etc. Signed, George. P.S. Woof, woof!" Well, what do you think?
Blackadder: It's very... moving, sir. However, would you mind if I changed just one tiny aspect of it?
Prince George: Which one?
Blackadder: The words?
Prince George: Yes, yes. I'll leave the details up to you, Blackadder. Just make sure she knows I'm all man. With a bit of animal thrown in. [growls playfully]
Blackadder: Certainly, sir.

Blackadder: I tell you, Baldrick, I'm not looking forward to this evening. Trying to serenade a light, fluffy bunny of a girl for an arrogant half-German yob and a mad dad.
Baldrick: Well, he is the Prince of Wales.
Blackadder: Have you ever been to Wales, Baldrick?
Baldrick: No. But I've often thought I'd like to.
Blackadder: Well, don't. It's a ghastly place. Huge gangs of tough, sinewy men roam the valleys terrifying people with their close harmony singing. You need half a pint of phlegm in your throat just to pronounce the place names. Never ask for directions in Wales, Baldrick. You'll be washing spit out of your hair for a fortnight.
Baldrick: So, being prince of it isn't considered a plus?
Blackadder: I fear not, no. But the crucial thing is that they must never be left alone together before the wedding.
Baldrick: Isn't that a bit unfair on her?
Blackadder: Well, it's not exactly fair on him either. The girl is wetter than a haddock's bathing costume. But, you know, Baldrick, the world isn't fair. If it was, things like this wouldn't happen, would they? [smacks Baldrick on the back of the head]

Blackadder: Sir, I come as emissary of the Prince of Wales with the most splendid news. He wants your daughter, Amy, for his wife.
Josiah Hardwood: Well, his wife can't have her! Outrageous, sir, to come here with such a suggestion! Leave now, sir, or I shall take off me belt, and by thunder, me trousers'll fall down!
Blackadder: No, sir, you misunderstand. The prince wants to marry your lovely daughter.
Josiah Hardwood: Oh! Can it be possibly true? Surely love has never crossed such boundaries of class?
Amy Hardwood: What about you and Mum?
Josiah Hardwood: Well, yes, I grant thee, when I first met her, I was the farmer's son and she was just the lass who ate the dung, but that was an exception.
Amy Hardwood: And Auntie Dot and Uncle Ted?
Josiah Hardwood: Yes, yes, alright, he was a pig poker and she was the Duchess of Argyle-
Amy Hardwood: And Auntie Ruthie was a milkmaid and Uncle Isiah was-
Josiah Hardwood: The pope! Yes, alright! Don't argue! Suffice to say, if you marry, we need never be poor or hungry again. Sir, we accept.
Blackadder: Wonderful. So, obviously, you'll be wanted an enormous ceremony... What did you say?
Josiah Hardwood: Well, obviously, now we're marrying quality, we'll never be poor or hungry again.
Blackadder: Meaning that you're poor and hungry at the moment?
Josiah Hardwood: Oh yes. We've been living off lard butties for five years now. I'm so poor, I use my underpants for drying dishes!
Blackadder: So you're skint?
Josiah Hardwood: Aye.
Blackadder: Well, in that case, the wedding's off. Good day.
Amy Hardwood: But what about George's lovey-wovey poems that won my hearty-wearty?
Blackadder: All writteny-witteny by me-we, I'm afraidy-waidy. Goodbye.

Blackadder: Crisis, Baldrick! Crisis! No marriage, no money, more bills. For the first time in my life, I've decided to follow a suggestion of yours. Saddle Prince George's horse.
Baldrick: Oh, sir, you're not gonna become a highwayman, are you?
Blackadder: No, I'm auditioning for the part of Arnold the Bat in Sheridan's new comedy.
Baldrick: Oh, that's alright, then.
Blackadder: Baldrick, do you have any idea what irony is?
Baldrick: Yeah. It's like gold-y and bronze-y, only it's made of iron.
Blackadder: Never mind, never mind. Just saddle the prince's horse.
Baldrick: Oh, that'll be difficult. He wrapped her around that gas lamp in the Strand last night.
Blackadder: Well, saddle my horse, then.
Baldrick: What d'you think you've been eating for the last two months?
Blackadder: Well, go out into the street and hire me a horse!
Baldrick: Hire you a horse? For ninepence? On Jewish New Year in the rain? A bare fortnight after the dread Horse Plague of Old London Town? With the Blacksmith's strike in its' fifteen week and the Dorset Horse Fetish Fair tomorrow?
Blackadder: Right. Well, get this on, then. [shoves a bridle into Baldrick's hands] It looks as though you could do with the exercise.

Sally Cheapside: Honestly, Papa. Ever since Mother died, you've tried to stop me from growing up. I'm not a little girl, I'm a grown woman. In fact, I might as well tell you now, Papa. I'm pregnant. And I'm an opium fiend. And I'm love with a poet called Shelley who's a famous whoopsy. And Mother didn't die, I killed her!
Duke of Cheapside: Oh. Well, never mind.

[A gunshot rings out and the coach stops.]

Blackadder: Stand and deliver!
Duke of Cheapside: Oh no! Oh no, no, no, no! Disaster! It's the Shadow! We're doomed! Doomed!
Blackadder: Ah, good evening, Duke, and the lovely Miss Cheapside. Your cash bags, please.

[The Duke hands over his money at gunpoint]

Duke of Cheapside: You'll never get away with this, you scoundrel! You'll be caught and damn well hung!
Sally Cheapside: I think he looks pretty-
Blackadder: Madam, please, no jests about me being 'pretty well hung already'. We've no time.
Sally Cheapside: Pity.
Blackadder: Now, sir, turn out your pockets.
Duke of Cheapside: Never, sir! A man's pockets are his own private kingdom. I'll protect them with my life!
Blackadder: I see. Got something embarrassing in there, have you? Perhaps a particularly repulsive handkerchief? One of these fellows who has a big blow and doesn't change it for a week? Let's have a look...

[Blackadder finds a handkerchief, and inside that, a jewel.]

Blackadder: Aha!
Sally Cheapside: Highwayman, I also have a jewel. I fear, however, that I have placed it here, beneath my petticoat, for protection.
Blackadder: Well, in that case, Madam, I think I'll leave it. I'm not sure I fancy the idea of a jewel that's been in someone's pants. A single kiss of those soft lips is all I require.
Duke of Cheapside: Never, sir! A man's soft lips are his own private kingdom. I shall defend them with my life!
Blackadder: I'm not talking to you, Granddad.

[Miss Cheapside leans over her father and passionately kisses Blackadder]

Sally Cheapside: Oh, I am overcome! Take me with you to live the life of the wild rogue, cuddling under haystacks and making love in the branches of tall trees!
Blackadder: Madam, sadly, I must decline. I fear my horse would collapse with you on top of him as well as me.
Baldrick: I could try!
Blackadder: No, Quicksilver, you couldn't.
Baldrick: Well, that's not fair, then! I've had you on my back for ten miles, I haven't even got a kiss out of it!
Blackadder: Oh, alright then. [gives Baldrick a peck on the cheek.] All fair now?
Baldrick: Not really, no!
Blackadder: Tch, no pleasing some horses. Heigh-ho, Quicksilver!

[Baldrick whinnies and the two ride off.]

Sally Cheapside: Papa, you did nothing to defend my honour!
Duke of Cheapside: Oh, shut your face, you pregnant junkie fag hag!

[Blackadder packs up the wedding presents and prepares to run away with Amy]

Baldrick: Sir, what about the danger? Look, the reward's going up day by day.
Blackadder: I laugh in the face of danger. I drop ice cubes down the vest of fear. Things couldn't be better, Baldrick. She'll get me abroad and make me rich, then I'll probably drop her and get two hundred concubines to share my bed.
Baldrick: Wouldn't they be rather prickly?
Blackadder: Concubines, Baldrick, not porcupines.
Baldrick: [annoyed] I still can't believe you're leaving me behind!
Blackadder: Oh, don't worry, when we've established our plantation in Barbados, I'll send for you. No more sad little London for you, Balders. From now on, you will stand out in life as an individual.
Baldrick: Will I?
Blackadder: Of course you will; all the other slaves will be black.

[As Blackadder heads for the door, Mrs Miggins runs into him]

Mrs Miggins: Mr Blackadder! What's this I hear about you buying a bathing costume and forty gallons of coconut oil? Are you going abroad, sir?
Blackadder: Yep, I'm off.
Mrs Miggins: Oh, sir! What a tragic end to all my dreams! And I'd always hoped that you'd settle down and marry me, and that together we might await the slither of tiny adders!
Blackadder: Mrs M, if we were the last three humans on Earth, I'd be trying to start a family with Baldrick.

[Mrs Miggins wails in despair]

Duel and DualityEdit

Baldrick: [entering with a letter] Mr. Blackadder?
Blackadder: Leave me alone, Baldrick. If I wanted to talk to a vegetable, I'd have bought one at the market.
Baldrick: Don't you want this letter, then?
Blackadder: No, thank you. God, I'm wasted here. It's no life for a man of noble blood, being servant to a master with the intellect of a jugged walrus and all the social graces of a potty!
Baldrick: I'm wasted too. I've been thinking of bettering myself.
Blackadder: Oh really, how?
Baldrick: I applied for the job of village idiot of Kensington.
Blackadder: Oh. Get anywhere?
Baldrick: I got down to the last two, but I failed the final interview.
Blackadder: Oh, what went wrong?
Baldrick: I turned up. The other bloke was such an idiot, he forgot to.
Blackadder: Yes, I'm afraid my ambitions stretch slightly further than professional idiocy in West London. I want to be remembered when I'm dead. I want books written about me. I want songs sung about me. And then, hundreds of years from now, I want episodes of my life to be played out weekly at half past nine by some great heroic actor of the age.
Baldrick: Yeah, and I could be played by some tiny tit in a beard.
Blackadder: Quite. Now, what's this message?
Baldrick: I thought you didn't want it.
Blackadder: Well, I may do, it depends what it is.
Baldrick: So you do want it?
Blackadder: Well, I don't know, do I? It depends what it is.
Baldrick: [frantically] Well, I can't tell you what it is unless you want to know, and you said you didn't want to know, and now I'm so confused, I don't know where I live or what my name is!
Blackadder: Your name is of no importance, and you live in the pipe in the upstairs water closet. [opens the envelope] Oh god. Was the man who gave you this, by any chance, a red-headed lunatic with a kilt and a claymore?
Baldrick: Yeah, and the funny thing is he looked exactly like you.
Blackadder: My mad cousin MacAdder. The most dangerous man ever to wear a skirt in Europe.
Baldrick: Yeah, he come in here playing the bagpipes, then he made a haggis, sang Auld Lang Syne and punched me in the face.
Blackadder: Why?
Baldrick: 'Cos I called him a knock-kneed Scottish pillock.
Blackadder: An unwise move, Baldrick, since Mad MacAdder is a homicidal maniac.
Baldrick: My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.
Blackadder: Yes, if this is the same mother who confidently claimed you were a tall, handsome stallion of a man, I would treat her opinions with great care.
Baldrick: I love my mum.
Blackadder: And I love chops and sauce, but I don't seek their advice. I hate it when MacAdder turns up. He's such a frog-eyed, beetle-browed basket case.
Baldrick: He's the spitting image of you.
Blackadder: No he's not! We're about as similar as... two completely dissimilar things in a pod! [opens the letter] What's the old tartan throwback banging on about this time? "Have come south for rebellion." Oh god, surprise, surprise. "Staying with Miggins. The time has come. Best sword in Scotland. Insurrection, blood, large bowl of porridge. Rightful claim to throne." He's mad. He's mad! He's madder than Mad Jack McMad, the winner of this year's Mister Madman competition!
[The service bell rings]
Blackadder: Ah, the walrus awakes.

[The Prince has been challenged to a duel by the Duke of Wellington.]

Baldrick: May I speak, sir?
Blackadder: Certainly not, Baldrick. The prince is about to die. The last thing he wants to do in his final hours is exchange pleasantries with a certified plum duff.
Prince George: Easy, Blackadder. Let's hear him out.
Blackadder: Very well, Baldrick. We shall hear you out, then throw you out.
Baldrick: Well, your Majesty, I have a cunning plan which could get you out of this.
Blackadder: Don't listen to him, sir. It's a cruel proletariat attempt to raise your hopes. I shall have him shot the moment he's finished clearing away your breakfast.
Prince George: Wait a minute, Blackadder. Perhaps this disgusting, degraded creature is some sort of blessing in disguise?
Blackadder: If he is, it's a very good disguise.
Prince George: After all, did Our Lord not send a lowly earthworm to comfort Moses in his torment?
Blackadder: Nope.
Prince George: Well, it's the sort of thing he might have done. Well, come on, Mr Spotty, speak.
Baldrick: Well, sir, I've just thought, this Wellyton bloke's been in Europe for years. You don't know what he looks like, and he don't know what you looks like, so why don't you get someone else to fight the duel instead of you?
Prince George: But I'm the Prince Regent. My portrait hangs on every wall!
Blackadder: Answer that, Baldrick.
Baldrick: Well, sir, my cousin Bert Baldrick, Mr Gainsborough's butler's dogsbody, he says that he's heard that all portraits look the same these days, 'cos they're painted to a romantic ideal, rather than as a true depiction of the idiosyncratic facial qualities of the person in question.
Blackadder: Your cousin Bert obviously has a larger vocabulary than you, Baldrick.
Prince George: No, he's right, damn him! Anyone could fight the duel and Wellers would never know!
Blackadder: All the same, sir, Baldrick's plan seems to hinge on finding someone willing to commit suicide on your behalf.
Prince George: Oh, yes, yes, but he'd be fabulously rewarded. Money, titles, castles.
Blackadder: Coffin.
Baldrick: That's right! I though maybe Mr Blackadder himself would fancy the job.
Prince George: What a splendid idea!
Blackadder: Excuse me, Your Highness, trouble with the staff.
[Blackadder leads Baldrick out into the vestibule, closes the doors and grabs Baldrick by the collar.]
Blackadder: Baldrick, does it have to be this way - our valued friendship ending with me cutting you into long strips and telling the prince that you walked over a very sharp cattle grid in an extremely heavy hat?
Baldrick: But, Mr Blackadder, you were just saying in the kitchen how you wanted to rise again. Now here the prince is offering you the lot.
Blackadder: But, tiny, tiny brain, the Iron Duke will kill me! To even think about taking him on, you'd have be some homicidal maniac who's fantastically good at fighting, like MacAdder. Like MacAdder... Like MacAdder could fight the duel for me!

Blackadder: Ah, Mrs Miggins. Am I to gather from your look of pie-eyed exhaustion and the globules of porridge hanging off the walls that my cousin MacAdder has presented his credentials?
Mrs Miggins: Ooo, yes indeed, sir. You just missed him.
Blackadder: I hope he's been practicing with his claymore.
Mrs Miggins: Oh, I should say so! I'm as weary as a dog with no legs that's just climbed Ben Nevis.
Blackadder: A claymore is a sword, Mrs Miggins.
Mrs Miggins: See this intricate wood carving of the infant Samuel at prayer? He whittled that with the tip of his mighty weapon with his eyes closed.
Blackadder: (drily) Yes, exquisite.
Mrs Miggins: He bade me bite down on a plank of wood. There was a whirlwind of steel and within a minute three men lay dead and I had a lovely new set of gnashers.
Blackadder: Really. Just tell him to meet me here at 5 o'clock to discuss an extremely cunning plan. If all goes well, by tomorrow the clan of MacAdder will be marching back on the high road back to glory.
Mrs Miggins: Ooh, lovely. I'll do you a nice packed lunch.

Prince George: Thank God it's you, Blackadder! I've just had word from Wellington, he's on his way here now!
Blackadder: That's awkward. The Duke must believe from the very start that I am you.
Prince George: Hmm, any ideas?
Blackadder: There's no alternative, sir. We must swap clothes.
Prince George: Oh fantastic, yes. Dressing up, I love it. It's like that story, The Prince and the Porpoise.
Blackadder: And the Pauper.
Prince George: Ah, yes yes yes. The Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper.

[The two swap their jackets and wigs]

Prince George: Excellent! Why, my own father wouldn't recognise me.
Blackadder: Your own father never can. He's mad.
Prince George: Oh yes, that's right.
Blackadder: Unfortunately, sir, you do realise that I shall have to treat you like a servant?
Prince George: Oh, I think I can handle that, thank you, Blackadder.
Blackadder: And you'll have to get used to calling me "Your Highness", Your Highness.
Prince George: Your Highness, Your Highness.
Blackadder: No, just "Your Highness", Your Highness.
Prince George: That's what I said. "Your Highness, Your Highness", Your Highness, Your Highness.
Blackadder: Yes, let's leave that for now. Complicated stuff, obviously.

Duke of Wellington: Have I the honour of addressing the Prince Regent, sir?
Blackadder: You do.
Duke of Wellington: Congratulations, Your Highness. Your bearing is far more noble than I had been informed. [to Prince George] Take my hat at once, sir, unless you wish to feel my boot in your throat, and be quicker about it than you were with the door!
Prince George: Yes, my lord.
Duke of Wellington: [smacks him on the back of the head] I'm a duke, not a lord! Where were you trained, a dago dancing class? Shall I have my people thrash him for you, Highness?
Blackadder: Uh, no. He's very new. At the moment, I'm sparing the rod.
Duke of Wellington: Fatal error. Give 'em an inch, before you know it, they have a foot. Much more than that, you don't have a leg to stand on. [see George is still there, smacks him on the head again.] Get out!

Blackadder: Tell me, do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?
Duke of Wellington: NEVER! There's only one way to win a campaign - shout, shout and shout again!
Blackadder: You don't think, then, that inspired leadership and tactical ability have anything to do with it?
Duke of Wellington: [brief pause] No! It's all down to shouting! BAH!
Blackadder: I hear that conditions in your army are appalling.
Duke of Wellington: Well, I'm sorry, but those are my conditions, and you'll just have to accept them. That is, until this evening, when I shall kill you.
Blackadder: Who knows, maybe I shall kill you.
Duke of Wellington: Nonsense! I've never been so much as scratched! My skin is as smooth as a baby's bottom. Which is more than you can say for my bottom.

MacAdder: So, tell me, cousin, I hear you have a cunning plan.
Blackadder: I do. I want you to take the place of the Prince Regent and kill the Duke of Wellington in a duel.
MacAdder: Aye, and what's in it for me?
Blackadder: Enough cash to buy the Outer Hebrides. What do you say?
MacAdder: Fourteen shillings and sixpence? Well, it's tempting, but I've got a better plan. Why don't I pretend to be the Duke of Wellington and kill the Prince of Wales in a duel? Then I could kill the king and be crowned with the ancient stone bonnet of MacAdder!
Mrs Miggins: And I shall wear the granite gown and limestone bodice of MacMiggins, Queen of all the herds!
Blackadder: For god's sake, MacAdder, you're not Rob Roy. If you kill the prince, much less the king, they'll just send the bailiffs around and arrest you.
MacAdder: Oh blast, I forgot the bailiffs.
Blackadder: So we can return to our original plan?
MacAdder: No, I'm not interested. I'd rather go to bed with the Loch Lomond Monster. Besides, I have to be back in the office on Friday. I promised Mr MacNaulty I'd help shift a particularly difficult bloater for him. Forget the whole thing. I'm off home with Miggsy!
Mrs Miggins: Yes! Show me the glen where the kipper roams free, and forget Morag forever!
MacAdder: No, never! Must do right by Morag. We must return to Scotland and you must fight her in the old Highland way - bare-breasted and each carrying an eight pound baby.
Mrs Miggins: Yes, yes! I love babies! [kisses MacAdder on the cheek]
MacAdder: Aye, you're a woman of spirit. I look forward to burying you in the old Highland manner. Farewell, Blackadder, you spineless goon!
Blackadder: Fortune vomits on my eiderdown one more.

Prince George: Good portents for your duel, do you think?
Blackadder: No, sir. I'm afraid the duel is off.
Prince George: Off?
Blackadder: As in "sod". I'm not doing it.
Prince George: By thunder, here's a pretty game - you will stay, sir, and do you duty by your prince-!
Blackadder: Or what, you port-brained twerp? I've looked after you all my life! Even when we were babies, I had to show you which bit of your mother was serving the drinks!
Prince George: Oh please, you've got to help me! I've got so much to give! I need more time!
Blackadder: A poignant plea, sir. One that could melt even the stoniest of hearts. But I'm afraid the answer must remain "You're going to die, fat pig."
Prince George: Wait! I'll give you everything!
Blackadder: Everything?
Prince George: Everything!
Blackadder: The money? The castles? The jewelry?
Prince George: Yes!
Blackadder: The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of French lithographs?
Prince George: Everything!
Blackadder: The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his trousers every hour?
Prince George: Yes, yes, alright!
Blackadder: Very well, I accept. A man may fight for many things; his country, his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally, I'd mud-wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a sack of French porn! You're on!
Prince George: Hurrah!

Duke of Wellington: Come, sir, choose your stoker.
Blackadder: What, are we going to tickle each other to death?
Duke of Wellington: No, sir, we fight with cannon.
Blackadder: But I thought we were fighting with swords!
Duke of Wellington: Swords?! What do you think this is, the Middle Ages? Only girls fight with swords these days! Stand by your gun, sir! Hup, two, three! Hup, two, three!
Blackadder: Look, wait a minute-
Duke of Wellington: Stand by cannon for loading procedure! Stoke, muzzle, wrench!
Blackadder: [reading manual] "Congratulations on purchasing the Armstrong-Whitworth four-pounder cannonette. Please read instructions carefully and it shall give you years of trouble-free maiming."
Duke of Wellington: Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim...
Blackadder: Look, wait a minute-
Duke of Wellington: FIRE!!!

Blackadder Goes ForthEdit

Plan A: Captain CookEdit

[First lines]
Blackadder: Baldrick, what are you doing out there?
Baldrick: I'm carving something on this bullet, sir.
Blackadder: What are you carving?
Baldrick: I'm carving "Baldrick", sir!
Blackadder: Why?
Baldrick: It's part of a cunning plan, actually!
Blackadder: Of course it is.
Baldrick: You know how they say that somewhere there's a bullet with your name on it?
Blackadder: [haltingly] Yyyyyyyyes...?
Baldrick: Well, I thought that if I owned the bullet with my name on it, I'll never get hit by it! Cause I'll never shoot myself...
Blackadder: Oh, shame!
Baldrick: ... and the chances of there being two bullets with my name are very small indeed!
Blackadder: Yes, it's not the only thing around here that's "very small indeed". Your brain, for example. Is so minute, Baldrick, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn't be enough to cover a small water biscuit.

Melchett: Field Marshal Haig has formulated a brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the field.
Blackadder: Ah. Would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of our trenches and walking very slowly towards the enemy?
Captain Darling: How could you possibly know that, Blackadder? It's classified information!
Blackadder: It's the same plan that we used last time and the seventeen times before that.
Melchett: Exactly! And that is what is so brilliant about it! It will catch the watchful Hun totally off guard! Doing precisely what we've done eighteen times before is exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time! There is, however, one small problem.
Blackadder: That everyone always gets slaughtered in the first ten seconds.
Melchett: That's right. And Field Marshal Haig is worried this may be depressing the men a tad. So he's looking for a way to cheer them up.
Blackadder: Well, his resignation and suicide seems the obvious choice.
Melchett: Hmm, interesting thought. Make a note of it, Darling.

Blackadder: Brilliant, George. It's a masterpiece. The wimple suits you, Baldrick.
Baldrick: But it completely covers my face.
Blackadder: Exactly. Now, men, General Melchett will be here at any minute. When he arrives, leave the talking to me. I like to keep an informal trench, as you know, but today you must only speak with my express permission. Is that clear? [no answer] Is that clear? [still no answer, exasperated] Permission to speak.
Baldrick & George: Yes, sir! Absolutely, sir!

Melchett: Congratulations on your new appointment, Blackadder.
Blackadder: Thank you, sir.
Darling: And may I say, Blackadder, I am particularly pleased about it.
Blackadder: Are you?
Darling: Oh yes.
Melchett: Now that you're our official war artist, we can give you the full briefing. The fact is, Blackadder, that the King & Country cover story was just that - a cover story. We want you to leave the trenches...
Blackadder: Very good.
Melchett: ...tonight...
Blackadder: Suits me.
Melchett: ...and go out into No-Man's Land.
Blackadder: No-Man's Land?
Melchett: Yes.
Blackadder: Not Paris?
Melchett: No. We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the enemy positions.
Blackadder: You want me to sit on No-Man's Land painting pictures of the Germans?
Melchett: Precisely! Good man!
Blackadder: Well, it's a very attractive proposition, sir, but unfortunately, not practical. You see, my medium is light. It'll be pitch dark. I won't see a thing.
Melchett: Mmm, that is a bit of a blur. Tell you what, we'll send up a couple of flares! You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree!
Blackadder: Oh, excellent. Glad I checked.

Darling: Are you sure this is what you saw, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Absolutely. I mean, there may have been a few more armament factories and not quite as many elephants, but, yes.
Melchett: Well, you know what this means.
Darling: If it's true, sir, we'll have to cancel the push.
Melchett: Exactly.
George: Damn!
Blackadder: What a nuisance.
Melchett: Exactly what the enemy would expect us to do, and therefore exactly what we shan't do!
Blackadder: Ah. Now-
Melchett: If we attack where the line is strongest, Fritz will think our reconnaissance is a total shambles. This will lull him into a false sense of security, so then next week, we can attack where the line is actually badly defended, and win the greatest victory since the Winchester Flower-Arranging team beat Harrow by twelve sore bottoms to one!
Blackadder: Tell me, have you ever visited the planet Earth, sir?
George: Permission to shout 'bravo' at an annoyingly loud volume?
Melchett: Permission granted.
George: BRAVO!!!
Melchett: That's the spirit! Just your kind of caper, eh, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Oh yes.
Darling: Good luck against those elephants.

Plan B: Corporal PunishmentEdit

Blackadder: Ah, Baldrick, anything from Massingbird yet?
Baldrick: Yes, sir. Just arrived, sir.
Blackadder: What's that?
Baldrick: A sponge bag, sir.
Blackadder: A sponge bag?
Baldrick: Yes, sir.
Blackadder: Baldrick, I gave you two notes. You sent the note asking for a sponge bag to the finest mind in British legal history?
Baldrick: Certainly did, sir.
Blackadder: And you sent the note asking for legal representation to...?
[George enters the cell wearing a lawyer's robe and wig]
George: Well, tally ho with a bing and a bong and a buzz, buzz, buzz!
Blackadder: Baldrick, I'll deal with you later. [to George] Am I to understand that you are going to be representing me at the court martial.
George: Oh, yes, sir. Bit of a family tradition, actually. My uncle's a lawyer, you know.
Blackadder: Your uncle's a lawyer, but you're not?
George: Good lord, no. I'm an absolute duffer at this sort of thing. In a school debating society, I was voted the boy least likely to complete a coherent, um...
Blackadder: Sentence?
George: Yes, that's the word. But anyway, old friend, it's an honour to serve.
Blackadder: George, I'm in deep trouble here. I need to construct a case that's as watertight as a mermaid's brassiere. I'm not sure your particular brand of mindless optimism is going to contribute much to the proceedings.
George: Well, that's a shame, sir, because I was planning on playing the mindless optimism card rather strongly.
Blackadder: Really?
George: Yes, I'd based my closing sentence on that very theme. "Oh, go on, let him off, Your Honour, please! After all, it's a lovely day, pretty clouds, trees, birds, etc. I rest my case."
Blackadder: So, counsel, with that summing up in mind, what do you think my chances are?
George: Not good, I'm afraid. As far as I can tell, you're as guilty as a puppy sitting next to a pile of poo.
Blackadder: Charming.

Melchett: Clerk, hand me that black cap, will you? I'll be needing that.
Blackadder: I love a fair trial.
Melchett: Anything to say before we kick off, Captain Darling?
Darling: May it please the court, as this is clearly an open and shut case, I beg leave to bring a private prosecution against the defence counsel for wasting the court's time.
Melchett: Granted. The defense counsel is fined £50 for turning up.
George: This is fun, isn't it? It's just like a real court.

[After Blackadder has been sentenced to death by firing squad]
Perkins: Chappy to see you, sir.
Blackadder: What's he look like?
Perkins: Short, ugly.
Blackadder: Hello, Baldrick.
[Baldrick enters the cell, holding a bag]
Baldrick: I brought you some food, sir, for your final breakfast tomorrow.
Blackadder: So you're not holding out hope for a last-minute reprieve, then?
Baldrick: No, sir. You are as dead as some doodoos.
Blackadder: The expression, Baldrick, is 'as a dodo'. 'Dead as a dodo.'
Perkins: Well, I'll leave you to it then.
[Perkins leaves the cell. Baldrick looks around before talking to Blackadder]
Baldrick: Do not despair, sir. All my talk of food was just a dead herring. In fact, I have a cunning plan. This is not food, but an escape kit.
Blackadder: Good lord! With a saw, a hammer, a chisel, a gun, a change of clothes, a Swiss passport and a huge false moustache, I may just stand a chance!
Baldrick: Ah.
Blackadder: Right, let's see...
[Blackadder rummages around in the bag and pulls out...]
Blackadder: A small painted wooden duck?
Baldrick: Yeah, I thought, if you get caught near water, you can balance it on top of your head as a brilliant disguise.
Blackadder: Yes. I would, of course, have to escape first. [feels around in the bag] But what's this? Unless I'm much mistaken, a hammer and a chisel!
Baldrick: You are much mistaken.
[Blackadder pulls out...]
Blackadder: A pencil and a miniature trumpet?
Baldrick: Yeah, a pencil so you can write me a postcard to tell me how the breakout went, and a miniature trumpet in case, during your escape, you have to win favour with a difficult child.
Blackadder: Baldrick, I have no desire to spend my last precious minutes rummaging through this feeble collection of stocking filler. Let me ask you some simple questions - is there a saw in this bag?
Baldrick: No.
Blackadder: A hammer?
Baldrick: No.
Blackadder: A chisel?
Baldrick: No.
Blackadder: A gun?
Baldrick: No.
Blackadder: A false passport?
Baldrick: [thinks for a second] No.
Blackadder: A change of clothes?
Baldrick: Of course, sir. I wouldn't forget clothes.
Blackadder: Well, that's something.
[Blackadder rummages around in the bag and pulls out a feathered cap and a bow]
Blackadder: A Robin Hood costume?
Baldrick: Yeah. I though of putting in a French peasant's outfit at first, but then I thought "What if you arrive in a French peasant village and they're in the middle of a fancy dress party?".
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, and what if I arrive in a French peasant village in a Robin Hood costume and there isn't a fancy dress party?
Baldrick: Well, to be frank, sir, I didn't consider that possibility. But if you did, then you'd stand out like-
Blackadder: Like a man standing in a lake with a small painted wooden duck on his head?
Baldrick: Yeah.

[After Blackadder has met with his all-too-cheery firing squad]
Blackadder: Perfect. I wonder if anything on Earth could depress me more.
Baldrick: Excuse me, sir?
Blackadder: Of course it could.
Baldrick: I forgot to give you this letter from Lieutenant George.
Blackadder: Oh, joy. What wise words from the world's greatest defense counsel? "Dear Mother..." Unusual start. "Thanks for the case of scotch..." You've excelled yourself, Baldrick. You brought the wrong letter again.
Baldrick: Oh yeah, he did write two.
Blackadder: Yes, his mother's about to receive a letter telling he he's sorry she's going to be shot in the morning, while I have to read this drivel. "Hope Celia thrives in the pony club trials and that little Freddy scores a century for the first eleven." You can't deny, it's a riveting read. "Send my love to Uncle Rupert. Who'd have thought it? Mad Uncle Rupert, Minister of War, with power of life and death over every bally soldier in the army." Wait a minute. This is it. All George has to do is send him a telegram and he'll get me off! Baldrick, I love you! I want to kiss your cherry lips and nibble your shell-like ears! I'm free!
[We see Baldrick has puckered up.]

[After Blackadder has gotten a reprieve, he returns to the trench and reads out a letter to George from his Uncle Rupert.]
Blackadder: "George, my boy, outraged to read in dispatches of how that arse, Melchett, made such a pig's ear of your chum Blackadder's court martial. Have reversed the decision forthwith. Surprised you didn't ask me to do it yourself, actually."
George: Well, yes, sir. Uh, the thing is-
Blackadder: You two got whammed last night, didn't you?
George: Well, not whammed, exactly. A little tiddly perhaps-
Blackadder: And you forgot the telegram to your uncle.
George: Well, no, no. Not completely. Partially. Well, yes. Yes, entirely.
Baldrick: I think I can explain, sir.
Blackadder: Can you, Baldrick?
Baldrick: [thinks for a second] No.
Blackadder: As I suspected. I'm not a religious man, as you know, but henceforth I shall nightly pray to the God who killed Cain and squashed Samson that he comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the pair of you. [the phone rings] Captain Blackadder speaking. Ah, Captain Darling. Yes, well, some of us just have friends in high places, I suppose. Yes I can hear you perfectly. You want what? You want two volunteers for a mission into no man's land? Codename: "Operation Certain Death"? Yes, I think I have just the fellows. [he hangs up and grins cruelly at George and Baldrick] God is very quick these days.

Plan C: Major StarEdit

Baldrick: Sir, it's all over the trenches!
Blackadder: Well, mop it up then!
Baldrick: No sir, the news! The Russian Revolution has started! The masses have risen up and shot all their nobs!
George: Well, hurrah!
Blackadder: Oh no, the bloody Russians have pulled out of the war!
George: Well, we soon saw them off, didn't we? Miserable, slant-eyed sausage-eating swine!
Blackadder: The Russians are on our side, George.
George: [surprised] Are they? Oh.
Blackadder: And they've abandoned the Eastern Front.
Baldrick: And they've overthrown Nicholas II who used to be bizarre!
Blackadder: Who used to be the tsar, Baldrick. The point is that now that the Russians have made peace with the Kaiser, at this very moment a quarter of a million Germans are leaving the Russian Front and coming here with the express purpose of using my nipples for target practice. There's only one thing for it - I'm going to desert, and I'm gonna do it right now.
Melchett: Are you leaving us, Blackadder?
Blackadder: No, sir.
Melchett: I'm glad to hear it, because I need you to help me shoot some deserters later on. There have been subversive mutterings amongst the men. You'll remember the French army last year at Verdun when the top echelons suffered tremendous risings from the bottom.
Blackadder: Yes, sir, but surely that was traced to a shipment of garlic eclairs?
Melchett: Nonsense, Blackadder! It was Bolshiness! Plain Bolshiness! And now that the Ruskies have followed suit, I'm damned if I'm going to let the same thing happen here.
Blackadder: Oh, and what are you going to do about it?
Melchett: We're going to have a concert party to boost the men's morale.
George: A concert party? Well, hurrah!

[Blackadder is meeting "Bob" Parkhurst, who he realizes is actually a woman disguised as a man]
Blackadder: So you're a chap, are you, Bob?
Bob: Oh yes, sir. [bursts out laughing and growls like a tiger]
Blackadder: You wouldn't say that you were a girl at all?
Bob: [nervously] Oh, definitely not sir! I understand cricket, I fart in bed, everything.
Blackadder: Let me put it another way, Bob. You are a girl. And you're a girl with as much talent for disguise as a giraffe in dark glasses trying to get into a "Polar bears only" golf club!
Bob: [Horrified] Oh sir, oh sir, please don't give me away, sir. I just wanted to be like my brothers and join up. I want to see how a war is fought... so badly!
Blackadder: Well, you've come to the right place, Bob. A war hasn't been fought this badly since Olaf the Hairy, High Chief of all the Vikings, accidentally ordered eighty thousand battle helmets with the horns on the inside.
Bob: I want to do my bit for the boys, sir!
Blackadder: Oh, really..?
Bob: [pleading] I'll do anything, sir!
Blackadder: Yes, I'd keep that to myself if I were you.

Blackadder: Bob, take a telegram.
Bob: Sir.
Blackadder: "Mr. C. Chaplin. Sennett Studios, Hollywood, California. Congrats, stop. Have discovered only person in world less funny than you, stop. Name: Baldrick, stop. Yours, E. Blackadder, stop. P.S. Please, please, please, stop."

Bob: They love him, sir! We're a hit!
Blackadder: Yes, in one short evening, I've become the most successful impresario since the manager of the Roman colosseum thought of putting the Christians and the lions on the same bill.
Baldrick: Sir, some people seemed to think that I was best. Would you agree?
Blackadder: Baldrick, in the Amazonian rainforests, there are tribes of Indians as yet untouched by civilization that have developed more convincing Charlie Chaplin impressions than yours.
Baldrick: Oh, thank you very much, sir.

Darling: Ah, Captain Blackadder. I must say, I had an absolutely splendid evening.
Blackadder: Oh, glad you enjoyed the show.
Darling: The show? I didn't go to the show. Important regimental business.
Blackadder: A lorryload of paperclips arrive?
Darling: Two lorryloads, actually.

Melchett: How do I look, Darling?
Darling: Girl bait, sir. Pure bloody girl bait.
Melchett: Mustache? Bushy enough?
Darling: Like a privet hedge, sir.
Melchett: Good, because I want to catch a a particularly beautiful creature in this bush tonight.
Darling: I'm sure you'll be combing women out of your mustache for weeks, sir.
Melchett: God, it's a spankingly beautiful world, and tonight's my night! I know exactly what I'll say to her. "Darling-"
Darling: Yes, sir?
Melchett: What?
Darling: Um, I don't know, sir.
Melchett: Well, don't butt in. "I want to make you happy, darling."
Darling: That's very kind of you, sir.
Melchett: Will you kindly stop interrupting? If you don't listen, how can you tell me what you think? "I want to make you happy, darling. I want to build a nest for your ten tiny toes. I want to cover every inch of your gorgeous body in pepper and then sneeze all over you!"
Darling: Really, sir! I must protest!
Melchett: What is the matter with you, Darling?!
Darling: It's just all so sudden. I mean, the nest bit's fine, but the pepper business is definitely out!
Melchett: How dare you tell me how I may or may not treat my beloved Georgina!
Darling: [confused] Georgina?
Melchett: Yes! I'm working on what I'm going to say to her this evening!
Darling: [relived] Oh yes. Of course. Thank god.
Melchett: Alright?
Darling: Yes, sir. I'm listening, sir.
Melchett: Honestly, Darling, you really are the most graceless, dimwitted bumpkin I ever met.
Darling: I don't think you should say that to her, sir.
Melchett: [groans in frustration]

Blackadder: Where the hell's George? It's three o'clock in the morning. He should be careful wandering around the trench at night with nothing to protect his honour but a cricket box.
[George walks in, carrying a bouquet of roses.]
George: Hello, Captain.
Blackadder: About time! Where the hell have you been?
George: Oh, I don't know. It's all been like a dream. My very first ball. The music, the dancing, the champagne. My mind is a mad whirl of half-whispered nothings with the promise of indiscretion hanging ever so softly in the air.
Blackadder: Oh, that old stoat try for a bit of snog behind the fruit cup?
George: Certainly not! The general behaved like a perfect gentleman. We tired the moon with our talking about everything and nothing. The war, marriage, proposed changes to the L.B.W rules.
Blackadder: Melchett isn't married, is he?
George: Oh, no. All his life, he's been waiting to find the perfect woman. And, at last, tonight, he did.
Blackadder: Some poor unfortunate had old Walrus Face dribbling in her ear all evening, did she?
George: Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did have to drape a napkin over my shoulder at one point.
Blackadder: George, are you trying to tell me that you are the general's perfect woman?
George: Well, yes, I rather think I am.
Blackadder: Well, thank god the horny old blighter didn't ask you to marry him.
[George sheepishly hides behind the bouquet.]
Blackadder: He did? Well, how did you get out of that one?
George: Well, to be honest, I'm not certain I did.
Blackadder: WHAT?!
George: You don't understand what it was like, sir. The candles, the music, the huge mustache. I don't know what came over me.
Blackadder: You said 'yes'?
George: Well, sir, he is a general. I didn't feel I could refuse. He might have had me court-martialed!
Blackadder: Whereas, on the other hand, he's going to give you the Victoria Cross when he lifts up your frock on the wedding night and finds himself looking at the last turkey in the shop!
George: I know it's a mess, sir, but he got me squiffy, you see. Then when he looked into my eyes and said "Chipmunk, I love you"-
Blackadder: Chipmunk?!
George: It's his pet name for me. He says my nose looks just like a chipmunks'.
Blackadder: Oh god! We're in serious trouble. If the general ever finds out that Gorgeous Georgina is in fact a strapping six-footer from the rough end of the trench, it'll lead to the fastest execution since someone said "This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?".
[The telephone rings. Blackadder answer it.]
Blackadder: Hello? Yes, sir. Straight away, sir. [Puts the receiver down, turns to George] That was your fiancé, Chipmunk. If I should die, think only this of me - I'll be back to get you.

Blackadder: We're in the stickiest situation since Sticky the Stick Insect got stuck on a sticky bun. We are in trouble.
Baldrick: Not any longer, sir.
[Baldrick walks in dressed as a woman]
Baldrick: May I present my cunning plan?
Blackadder: Don't be ridiculous, Baldrick. Can you sing? Can you dance? Or are you offering to be sawn in half?
Baldrick: I don't think those things are important in a modern marriage, sir. I offer simple home cooking.
Blackadder: Baldrick, our plan is to find a new leading lady for the show. What is your plan?
Baldrick: My plan is that I will marry General Melchett. I am the "other woman".
George: Well, congratulations, Baldrick! I hope you'll be very happy.
Baldrick: I will, sir, 'cause when I get back from honeymoon, I shall be a member of the aristocracy, and you will have to call me 'milady'.
Blackadder: Baldrick, no! It's the worst plan since Abraham Lincoln said "I'm sick of kicking around the house tonight. Let's go take in a show." For a start, General Melchett is in mourning for the woman of his dreams. He's unlikely to be in the mood to marry a two-legged badger wrapped in a curtain. Secondly, we are looking for a great entertainer, and you're the worst entertainer since Saint Paul the Evangelist toured Palestine with his trampoline act.

Plan D: Private PlaneEdit

Blackadder: Oh god, why do they bother?
George: Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, sir?
Blackadder: Yes, but Jerry is safe underground in concrete bunkers. We've shot off over a million cannon shells, and what's the result? One dachshund with a slight limp. [Looks out of the trench] SHUT UP!!!
[All the noises stop, except for the gramophone player in the background.]
Blackadder: Thank you. Right, I'm off to bed where I intend to sleep until my name changes to Rip van Adder.

Blackadder: [On the telephone] Hello? Yes, I'd like to leave a message for the head of the Flying Corps, please. That's Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Massingbird, VC, DFC and BAR. Message reads "Where are you, you bastard?".
Baldrick: Here I am, sir.
Blackadder: For god's sake, Baldrick, take cover!
Baldrick: Why, sir?
Blackadder: Because there's an air raid going on! And I don't want to have to write to your mother at London Zoo to tell her that her only human child is dead.

Flashheart: The first thing to remember is: always treat your kite [whacks diagram with his pointer] like you treat your woman! [Whips the air. Hard.]
George: Ho-how do you mean, sir? You mean, um... you mean, take her home over the weekend to meet your mother?
Flashheart: No, I mean get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back!
Blackadder: I'm beginning to see why the Suffragette Movement want the vote.
Flashheart: Hey, any bird who wants to chain herself to my railings and suffer a jet movement gets my vote! Right, well, I'll see you in ten minutes for takeoff!
Blackadder: Hang on! Hang on! What about the months of training?
Flashheart: Hey, Wet Pants, this isn't the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps! You're in the Twenty Minuters now!
Darling: Excuse me, sir?
Flashheart: Yes! Prat at the back!
Darling: Um, I think we'd all like to know why you're called the Twenty Minuters.
George: Oh, Mister Thicko. Imagine not knowing that.
Flashheart: Well, it's simple - the average life expectancy for a new pilot is twenty minutes!
Darling: [pleased] Ah.
Blackadder: [looks pointedly at George] Life expectancy of twenty minutes?
Flashheart: That's right! Goggles on, chocks away, last one back's a homo! HOORAY!
[The remaining volunteers cheer and follow Flashheart out the door, leaving Blackadder, George and Darling behind.]
Blackadder: So, we take off in ten minutes, we're in the air for twenty minutes, [looks at his wristwatch] which means we should be dead by twenty-five to ten.
George: Hairy blighters, sir, this is a bit of a turnup for the plus fours.
Darling: I wouldn't worry too much, Blackadder. Flying's all about navigation. [walks over to the main door] As long as you've got a good navigator, I'm sure you'll be fine. [opens the door to reveal Baldrick wearing an aviator's helmet and goggles.]

Blackadder: I don't believe it. A German prison cell. For two and a half years, the Western Front has been as likely to move as a Frenchman who lives next door to a brothel, and last night, the Germans advance a mile and we end up on the wrong side.
Baldrick: Oh dear, Captain B, my tummy's gone all squirty.
Blackadder: That's because you're scared, Baldrick, and you're not the only one. I couldn't be more petrified if a wild rhinoceros had just come home from a hard day at the swamp and found me wearing his pyjamas, smoking his cigars and in bed with his wife.
Baldrick: I've heard what these Germans'll do, sir. They'll have their wicked way with anything of woman-born.
Blackadder: Well, in that case, Baldrick, you're perfectly safe. However, the Teutonic reputation for brutality is well-founded. Their operas last three or four days. They have no word for 'fluffy'.
Baldrick: I want my mum!
Blackadder: Yes, it would be good to see her. I should imagine a maternally outraged gorilla would be a useful ally when it comes to the final scrap.

Melchett: Now then, what's going on here?
Darling: The damn fool Blackadder's crashed his plane behind enemy lines, sir. This young idiot wants to go and rescue him. [to George] It's a total waste of men and equipment!
George: He's not a damn fool, he's a bally hero!
Melchett: Alright, alright. [to Darling] Delicate touch, Darling, I fancy. [to George] Now, George, do you remember when I visited you when you were a nipper on your sixth birthday? You used to have a lovely little rabbit. Beautiful thing. Do you remember?
George: Flossy.
Melchett: Yes, Flossy. Do you remember what happened to Flossy?
George: You shot him.
Melchett: That's right. It was the kindest thing to do after he'd been run over by that car.
George: By your car, sir.
Melchett: Yes, by my car. But that too was an act of mercy, as you'll remember that dog had been set on him.
George: Your dog, sir.
Melchett: Yes, my dog. What I'm trying to say, George, is that the state Flossy was in after we'd scraped him off my front tire is very much the state young Blackadder will be in now. If not very nearly dead, then very actually dead.
George: Permission for lip to wobble, sir?
Melchett: Permission granted.
[George wobbles his lip as though he's about to cry.]
Melchett: Stout fellow.
George: But surely, sir, you could allow me to at least try and save him.
Melchett: No, George, it would be as pointless as trying to teach a woman the value of a good forward defensive stroke. Besides, it would take a superman to get him out of there, not the kind of weed who blubs just because somebody gives him a slice of rabbit pie instead of birthday cake.

Baron von Richthofen: Ha ha ha! You English and your sense of humour! How lucky you English are to find the toilet so amusing! For us, it is a mundane and functional item. For you, the basis of an entire culture!

Flashheart: (shoots von Richthofen) What a poof!

Plan E: General HospitalEdit

Blackadder: I spy with my bored little eye something beginning with 'T'.
Baldrick: Breakfast!
Blackadder: What?
Baldrick: My breakfast always begins with tea. Then I have a little sausage, and then an egg with some little soldiers.
Blackadder: Baldrick, when I said it begins with 'T', I was talking about a letter.
Baldrick: No, it never begins with a letter. The postman don't come 'til ten thirty.

Blackadder: Right, pork face, where's the grub?
George: What?
Blackadder: Come on, the moment that collection of inbred mutants you call your relatives heard you were sick, they'll have sent you a hamper the size of Westminster Abbey.
George: [indignant] My family is not inbred!
Blackadder: Come on, somewhere outside Saffron Walden, there's an uncle who's seven feet tall with no chin and an Adam's apple that makes him look like he's constantly trying to swallow a ballcock.
George: [indignant] I have not got any uncles like that! And anyway, he lives in Walton-on-the-Naze.
Blackadder: Exactly. Now where's the tuck?
George: Well, there were one or two things. A potted turkey, a cow in jelly, three tinned sheep and, uh, twelve hundred chocolates. But, in my weakened state, I ate them.
Blackadder: What?
George: Well, Nurse Mary nibbled a trotter or two. Oh, Cap, she's such a wonderful girl. She helps me with all my letters, she can do all the German spelling, and she's terribly good at punctuation.
Blackadder: I don't care if she can sing "I May Be A Tiny Chimney Sweep, But I've Got An Enormous Brush." Come on, Baldrick. The only thing we're gonna get for free around here is dysentery.
Baldrick: [whispering] But, Sir, I haven't given Lieutenant George my bunch of flowers yet.
Blackadder: Alright, hurry up.
Baldrick: Here you are, sir. I got you these. [holds out a bunch of flowers] Unfortunately, they had their heads shot off.
Blackadder: Whereas others choose to say it with flowers, Baldrick says it with stalks.

Darling: The Germans seem to be able to anticipate our every move. We send up an airplane, there's a Jerry squadron parked behind the nearest cloud. We move troops to Boulogne, the Germans have bought the entire town's supply of lavatory paper. In short, a German spy is giving away every one of our battle plans.
Melchett: You look surprised, Blackadder.
Blackadder: I certainly am, sir. I didn't realise that we had any battle plans.
Melchett: Well of course we have! How else do you think the battles are directed?
Blackadder: Our battles are directed, sir?
Melchett: Well of course they are, Blackadder, directed according to the grand plan.
Blackadder: Would that be the plan to continue with total slaughter until everyone's dead except for Field Marshall Haig, Lady Haig and their tortoise, Alan?
Melchett: [horrified] Great Scott! Even you know it! Guard, guard, bolt all the doors! Hammer large pieces of crooked wood against all the windows! This security leak is far worse than we'd imagined!
Darling: So, you see, Blackadder, Field Marshal Haig is anxious to eliminate all these German spies.
Melchett: Filthy Hun weasels fighting their dirty underhand war!
Darling: Fortunately, one of our spies...
Melchett: Splendid fellows! Brave heroes risking life and limb for Blighty!
Darling: ...has discovered that the leak is coming from the field hospital.
Blackadder: You think there's a German spy in the field hospital? I think you might be right.
Melchett: Your job, Blackadder, is to root this spy out. How long do you think you'll need?
Blackadder: [checks his wristwatch] Mmm...
Melchett: You'll have to be away from the trenches for some time.
Blackadder: Six months?
Darling: Too bad, Blackadder, you've got three weeks.
Melchett: Yes, three weeks to smoke the bugger out. Use any method you see fit. Personally, I recommend you get hold of a cocker spaniel, tie your suspect to a chair with a potty on his head, then pop his todger between two floury baps and shout "Dinnertime, Fido!". If you are successful, I shall need you back here permanently to head up my new security network, Operation: Winkle.
Blackadder: 'Winkle'?
Melchett: Yes. To winkle out the spies.
Darling: You never mentioned this to me, sir!
Melchett: Well, we have to have some secrets, don't we, Darling?
Blackadder: Right, well, I'll be back in three weeks.
Melchett: Excellent! And if you come back with the information, Captain Darling will pump you thoroughly in the debriefing room.
Blackadder: Not while I have my strength, he won't.
[Blackadder takes back his pistol from Darling and leaves.]
Darling: Damnation, sir, his insolence makes my blood boil! What's more, I don't trust him, sir. I think it would be best if I went to the hospital myself to keep an eye on him
Melchett: What, spy on our own spy as he searches for their spy? Yes, why not? Sounds rather fun. You'll have to go undercover.
Darling: Oh, definitely, sir.
Melchett: And you'll need some kind of wound. A convincing wound.
Darling: Naturally, sir.
[Melchett takes out his pistol and casually shoots Darling in the foot. Darling screams in pain and falls to the floor.]
Melchett: Yes, that looks quite convincing.

George: Smithy, you haven't seen any suspicious-looking fellows around, have you, who might be German spies?
Smith: Nein.
George: Nine? Well, the Cap's got his work cut out, then.

Melchett: Any news of the spy, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Yes, sir.
Melchett: Excellent! The Germans seem to know every move we make! I even had a letter from Jerry yesterday. It said "Isn't it about time you changed your shirts, Walrus Face?". Do you have any ideas on who it might be, young lady?
Nurse Mary: Well, sir, I'm only a humble nurse, but I did at one point think it might have been... Captain Darling.
Melchett: Well, bugger me with a fish fork! Old Darling a Jerry Morse-tapper? What on earth made you suspect him?
Nurse Mary: Well, sir, he pooh-poohed the captain and said he'd never find the spy.
Melchett: (paternally) Is this true, Blackadder? Did Captain Darling pooh-pooh you?
Blackadder: Well, perhaps a little.
Melchett: Well, damn it all, what more evidence do you need?! The pooh-poohing alone is a court martial offense!
Blackadder: I can assure you, sir, that the pooh-poohing was purely circumstantial.
Melchett: Well, I hope so, Blackadder. You know, if there's one thing I've learned from being in the army, it's never ignore a pooh-pooh. I knew a major who got pooh-poohed. Made the mistake of ignoring the pooh-pooh. He pooh-poohed it. Fatal error, because it turned out that the soldier who pooh-poohed him had been pooh-poohing a lot of other officers, who pooh-poohed their pooh-poohs. In the end, we had to disband the regiment. Morale totally destroyed by pooh-pooh!
Blackadder: I think we may be drifting slightly from the point, sir, which is, unfortunately, and to my lasting regret, Captain Darling is not the spy.
Melchett: Oh? Then who the hell is it?
Nurse Mary: Well, sir, there is a man in the hospital with a pronounced limp and a very strong German accent. It must be him. It's obvious.
Blackadder: Obvious, but wrong. It's not him.
Melchett: And why not?
Blackadder: Because, sir, not even the Germans would be stupid enough to field a spy with a strong German accent.
Nurse Mary: Well then who is it?
Blackadder: Well, it's perfectly simple - it's you.
Nurse Mary: [horrified, stands up] Edmund!
Blackadder: [Stands up] Baldrick!

[Baldrick walks in, holding a rifle up to Nurse Mary]

Melchett: Explain yourself, Blackadder, before I have you shot for being rude to a lady!
Blackadder: Well, sir, the first seeds of suspicion were sown when Lieutenant George unwittingly revealed that she spoke German. Do you deny, Nurse Fletcher-Brown, or should I say Nurse Fleischer-Baum, that you helped Lieutenant George with the German words in his letters?
Nurse Mary: No, I did, but-
Blackadder: My suspicions were confirmed when she probed me expertly about tank movements.
Nurse Mary: Oh, Edmund, how could you? After all we've been through-
Blackadder: And then the final irrefutable proof. Remember you mentioned a clever boyfriend?
Nurse Mary: Yes.
Blackadder: I leapt on the opportunity to test you. I asked if he'd been to one of the great universities: Oxford, Cambridge, or Hull.
Nurse Mary: Well?
Blackadder: You failed to spot that only two of those are great universities!
Nurse Mary: You swine!
Melchett: That's right, Oxford's a complete dump!
Blackadder: [looks startled - this was an improvised joke by Stephen Fry, who went to Cambridge whereas Rowan Atkinson went to Oxford, its rival] ... Well, quite. No true Englishwoman would have fallen into that trap.
Nurse Mary: Oh, Edmund, I thought there was something beautiful between us. I thought you... loved me.
Blackadder: Nah. Take her away, Baldrick.
Baldrick: Raus, raus!

[Baldrick escorts Nurse Mary out of the office]

Melchett: Good work, Blackadder. I'd better go assemble a firing squad.

[Melchett sits down at his desk and begins dialling the telephone. The injured suspected spy, Smith, limps in from the side door, with Darling not far behind him.]
Darling: Watch out, sir!
[Darling leaps onto Smith, grabs his revolver and holds him at gunpoint.]
Melchett: Darling, what on earth do you think you're doing?!
Darling: I'm doing what Blackadder should have done three weeks ago, sir! This is the guilty man!
Melchett: Darling, you're hysterical!
Darling: No, sir, I'm not, sir! I'll ask him outright! Are you a spy?
Smith: [irritated] Yes, I am a spy!
Darling: You see, sir?!
Melchett: Well, of course he's a spy, Darling! A British spy! This is Brigadier Sir Bernard Proudfoot-Smith, the finest spy in the British army!
[Smith drops his limp and stands up straight.]
Darling: But he can't be, sir! He doesn't even sound British!
Smith: Unfortunately, I have been working undercover in Germany for so long, I have picked up a teensy-veensy bit of an accent.
Melchett: This, Darling, is the man who told us there was a German spy in the hospital in the first place!
Darling: Ah.
Melchett: Right, that's that. Blackadder?
Blackadder: Yes, sir?
Melchett: You are now head of Operation: Winkle.
Blackadder: Thank you, sir.
Melchett: Darling?
Darling: Yes, sir?
Melchett: You are a complete arse.
Darling: Thank you...
Melchett: Right, Bernard, let's go watch the firing squad.
Smith: Jawohl, mein general!

Plan F: GoodbyeeeEdit

Blackadder: Gentlemen, our long wait is nearly at an end. Tomorrow morning, General “Insanity” Melchett invites you to a mass-slaughter. We're going over the top.
George: Well, huzzah and hurrah! God save the King, rule Britannia, and boo sucks to Harry Hun!
Blackadder: Or, to be more precise, you're going over, I'm getting out of here.
George: Oh, now, come on, Cap! It may be a bit risky, but it'll be bloomin'ell worth it, gov'nor.
Blackadder: How can it possibly be 'worth it'? We've been sitting here since Christmas 1914, during which millions of men have died, and we've advanced no further than an asthmatic ant with some heavy shopping.
George: Well, but this time I'm absolutely pos we'll break through. It's ice cream in Berlin in fifteen days!
Blackadder: Or ice-cold in No-Man's Land in fifteen seconds. No, the time has come to get out of this madness once and for all.
George: What madness is that?
Blackadder: Oh, for god's sake, George, how long have you been in the army?
George: Me? I joined up straightaway sir. August the fourth, 1914. What a day that was. Myself and the rest of the fellows leapfrogging down to the Cambridge recruitment centre and playing tiddlywinks in the queue. We'd hammered Oxford's tiddlywinkers only the week before, and there we were, off to hammer the Bosch. Crashingly superb bunch of blokes. Fine, clean-limbed. Even our acne had a strange sense of nobility about it.
Blackadder: Yes, and how are all the boys now?
George: Well, er, Jocko and The Badger brought it at the first Ypres run, unfortunately. Quite a shock, that. I remember Bumfluff's housemaster wrote and told us that Sticky had been out for a duck, and The Gubber had had snitched a parcel sausage-end and gone goose-over-stump frogside.
Blackadder: Meaning?
George: I don't know sir, but I read in The Times that they'd both been killed.
Blackadder: And Bumfluff himself?
George: Copped a packet at Gallipoli with the Aussies. So did Drippy and Strangely Brown. I remember we heard on the first morning of the Somme when Titch and Mr Floppy got gassed back to Blighty.
Blackadder: Which leaves?
George: Gosh, yes, I... I suppose I'm the only one of the Trinity Tiddlers still alive. Blimey, there's a thought, and not a jolly one.

Blackadder: Baldrick!
Baldrick: Captain B?
Blackadder: This is a crisis. A large crisis. And a large crisis requires a large plan. Get me two pencils and a pair of underpants.
[We see Blackadder is wearing the underpants on his head and has stuffed the pencils, eraser-side first, up his nostrils.]
Blackadder: Right, Baldrick, this is an old trick I picked up in the Sudan. We tell H.Q. that I've gone insane, and I'll be invalided back to Blighty before you can say "Wibble." A poor, gormless idiot.
Baldrick: Well I'm a poor, gormless idiot, sir, and I've never been invalided back to Blighty.
Blackadder: Yes, Baldrick, but you never said "Wibble." Ask me some simple questions.
Baldrick: Alright. What is your name?
Blackadder: Wibble!
Baldrick: What is two plus two?
Blackadder: Wibble, wibble.
Baldrick: Where do you live?
Blackadder: London.
Baldrick: Eh?
Blackadder: A small village on Mars, just outside the capital city... Wibble.

Blackadder: Baldrick, fix us some coffee. And try to make it taste slightly less like mud this time.
Baldrick: Not easy, I'm afraid, Captain.
Blackadder: Why is that?
Baldrick: 'Cos it is mud. We ran out of coffee thirteen months ago.
Blackadder: So every time I've drunk your coffee since, I have in fact been drinking hot mud?
Baldrick: With sugar.
Blackadder: Oh, which of course makes all the difference.
Baldrick: Well, it would if we had sugar, but unfortunately, we ran out on New Year's Eve, 1915. Since then, I've been using sugar substitute.
Blackadder: Which is?
Baldrick: Dandruff.
Blackadder: Brilliant.
Baldrick: Still, I could add some milk this time. Well, saliva.
Blackadder: No. Call me Mr Picky, but I think I'll cancel the coffee.
Baldrick: That's probably 'cos you're mad, sir!
Blackadder: Well, quite!

Baldrick: Permission to ask a question, sir?
Blackadder: Permission granted, Baldrick, as long as it isn't the one about where babies come from.
Baldrick: No, sir. The way I see it, these days, there's a war on, right? And ages ago, there wasn't a war on. So there must have been a point where there not being a war went away and there being a war came along. So, what I want to know is how did we get from one case of affairs to the other case of affairs?
Blackadder: Do you mean "How did the war start?"
Baldrick: Yeah.
George: The war started because of the vile Hun and his villainous empire-building!
Blackadder: George, the British Empire, at present, covers a quarter of the globe, while the German Empire consists of a small sausage factory in Tanganyika. I hardly think we can be entirely absolved from blame on the imperialistic front.
George: Well, of course, sir. Absolutely not. [to Baldrick] Mad as a bicycle.
Baldrick: I heard it started when a bloke called Archie Duke shot an ostrich 'cause he was hungry.
Blackadder: I think you mean when the Archduke of Austro-Hungary got shot.
Baldrick: Nah, there was definitely an ostrich involved.
Blackadder: Well, possibly. But the real reason for the whole thing was that it was just too much effort not to have a war.
George: By gum, this is interesting! I've always loved history. The Battle of Hastings, Henry VIII and his six knives, all that.
Blackadder: You see, Baldrick, in order to prevent war in Europe, two super-blocs developed. Us, the French and the Russians on one side, and the Germans and Austro-Hungary on the other. The ideas was to have two vast opposing armies, each acting as the other's deterrent. That way, there could never be a war.
Baldrick: But this is sort of a war, isn't it, sir?
Blackadder: Yes, that's right. You see, there was a tiny flaw in the plan.
George: What was that, sir?
Blackadder: It was bollocks.
Baldrick: So the poor old ostrich died for nothing.

George: Sir!
Melchett: George, how's the patient?
George: Well, it's touch-and-go, I'm afraid, sir. I can't really vouch for his behaviour. He's gone mad, you see. Stir fry crazy.
Melchett: I see. Is this genuinely mad?
George: Yes, sir.
Melchett: Or has he simply put his underpants on his head and stuffed a couple of pencils up his nose? That's what they used to to do in the Sudan. I remember I once had to shoot a whole platoon for trying that.

George: Well, sir, I'm glad you're not barking anymore.
Blackadder: No, George. Although, quite clearly, you are. You were offered a way out and you didn't take it.
George: Of course not, sir. I can't wait to get stuck into the Bosch!
Blackadder: You won't have time to get stuck into the Bosch! We'll all be cut to pieces by machine gun fire before we can say "Charge!".

Baldrick: I have a cunning plan, sir.
Blackadder: Alright, Baldrick, for old times' sake.
Baldrick: You phone Field Marshal Haig and you ask him to get you out of this.
Blackadder: Baldrick, even by your standards, it's pathetic. I only ever met Field Marshal Haig once. It was twenty years ago. [realises something] And my god. You've got it. You've got it! [kisses Baldrick]
Baldrick: Well, if I've got it, you've got it too, now.
Blackadder: I can't believe I've been so stupid! One phone call will do it. One phone call, and I'll be free.

George: You know, I won't half miss you chaps after the war.
Baldrick: Don't worry, Lieutenant, I'll come visit you.
George: Will you really? That'd be nice. Hop in the old jalopy and head down to the countryside. We could relive the old days.
Blackadder: What, dig a hole in the garden, fill it with water and get your gamekeeper to shoot at us all day?

Baldrick: I thought it was gonna be such fun, we all did, joining the local regiment. The Turnip Street Workhouse Pals. It was great. I'll never forget it. It was the first time I ever felt popular. Everyone was cheering and throwing flowers. Some girl even come up and kissed me.
Blackadder: Poor woman. First casualty of the war.
Baldrick: And I loved the training. All we had to do was bayonet sacks full of straw. Even I could do that. I remember saying to my Mum, "These sacks'll be easy to outwit in a battle situation." And then, we all met up, just before Christmas, 1914.
George: Yes, that's right. I'd just arrived and we had that wonderful Christmas truce. Do you remember, sir? We could hear Silent Night drifting across the still, clear air of No-Man's Land, and then they came, the Germans, emerging out of the freezing night mist, calling to us, and we clambered up over the top and went to meet them.
Blackadder: Both sides advanced more during one Christmas piss-up than they managed in the next two-and-a-half years of war.
Baldrick: Do you remember the football match?
Blackadder: Remember it? How could I forget it? I was never offside! I could not believe that decision!
Baldrick: Since then, we've been stuck here for three flippin' years. We haven't moved. All me friends are dead. My pet spider, Sammy. Katie the worm. Bertie the bird. Everyone except Neville the fat hamster.
Blackadder: I'm afraid Neville bought it too, Baldrick. I'm sorry.
Baldrick: Neville's gone, sir?
Blackadder: Actually, not 'gone'. He's in the corner, bunging up the sink.
Baldrick: Oh no! It didn't have to happen, sir! If it wasn't for this terrible war, Neville would still be here today, sniffling his little nose and going 'eek'.
Blackadder: On the other hand, if he hadn't died, I wouldn't have been able to insert a curtain rod up his bottom and use him as a dish mop.
Baldrick: Why can't we just stop, sir? Why can't we just say "No more killing. Let's all go home." Why would it be stupid just to pack it in, sir? Why?

George: Sir...I'm scared, sir.
Baldrick: I'm scared too, sir.
George: I'm the last of the tiddly-winking leap-froggers from the golden summer of 1914. I don't want to die...I'm really not overly keen on dying at all, sir.
Blackadder: How are you feeling, Darling?
Darling: Ah, not all that good, Blackadder. Rather thought I'd get through the whole show, go back to working at Pratt and Sons, keep wicket for the Croydon Gentlemen, marry Doris. Made a note in my diary on the way here. Simply says "Bugger".
Blackadder: Well, quite.

[Last lines of the series; Blackadder, Baldrick, George and Darling are ready to go over the top]
Darling: Listen... Our guns have stopped.
George: You don't think...?
Baldrick: [with rising hope] Maybe... the war's over. Maybe it's peace!
George: [overjoyed] Oh, hurrah! The big knobs have gone round the table and yanked the iron out of the fire!
Darling: [also overjoyed] Thank God! We lived through it! The Great War, 1914 to 1917!
George: Hip-hip...
George, Baldrick and Darling: HOORAY!
Blackadder: [sadly] I'm afraid... not. The guns have stopped because we're about to attack. Not even our generals are mad enough to shell their own men. They think it's far more sporting to let the Germans do it.
George: [afraid] So we are, in fact, going over? This is, as they say, "it"?
Blackadder: I'm afraid so. Unless I can think of something very quickly.
Captain in background: COMPANY, ONE PACE FORWARD! [the group obey]
Baldrick: Oh, there's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir! A bloke could hurt himself on that!
Captain in background: STAND READY!
Baldrick: I have... a plan, sir.
Blackadder: Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?
Baldrick: Yes, sir.
Blackadder: As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?
Baldrick: Yes, sir.
Blackadder: Well, I'm afraid it'll have to wait. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was better than my plan to get out of this by pretending to be mad. I mean, who would have noticed another madman round here? [a whistle is heard] Good luck, everyone. [blows whistle, and they go over the top]


Blackadder: The Cavalier YearsEdit

Blackadder: Baldrick!
Baldrick: Yes, sir?
Blackadder: Get me some mulled ale. I'm freezing.
Baldrick: How's the king, sir?
Blackadder: Um, about as comfortable as can be expected for a man who's spending the winter in a blackcurrant bush.
Baldrick: D'you think the Roundheads'll find him?
Blackadder: Certainly not. I've assured him he is as likely to be caught as a fox being chased by a pack of one-legged hunting tortoises.
Baldrick: Is that true?
Blackadder: Of course it's true. Have you ever known me to lie to the king?
Baldrick: Yes.
Blackadder: [Grabs Baldrick by the collar and holds a knife to his throat]
Baldrick: Nope.
Blackadder: He's absolutely safe as long as you keep your fat mouth shut.
Baldrick: You can trust me, sir.
Blackadder: [laughs mirthlessly, then puts the knife down] Right, Baldrick, I'm off to answer the call of nature. If, by any freak chance, Oliver Cromwell drops in here in the next ninety seconds, remember: the king is not hiding here.
Baldrick: Yes, sir. [goes back to his work and starts singing Greensleeves as Blackadder leaves and Oliver Cromwell and a Roundhead soldier come in]
Cromwell: Good evening, citizen. I am Oliver Cromwell. [draws his sword] My men have surrounded your house while I search for royalist scum. Is the king hiding here?
Baldrick: Um... [struggles to remember, then finally answers...] No.
Cromwell: On pain of death and damnation, are you absolutely sure?
Baldrick: Yes, I am.
Cromwell: I see. [sheathes his sword] Well then, you wouldn't mind if my men come in from the cold, will you?
Roundhead Soldier: Men, come in from the cold!
Cromwell: Now, we shall all have a cup of milk by your fireside.
Baldrick: Alright, but don't touch the purple cup.
Cromwell: Why not?
Baldrick: That's the king's.

Baldrick: [singing as he slices a fish up] There's a tavern in the town, in the-!
Blackadder: For god's sake, stop that, Baldrick! It's bad enough having one's life in utter ruins without being serenaded by a moron with all the entertainment value of a tap-dancing oyster.
Baldrick: I'm sorry, sir. I can't help it. See, I've just had a little windfall.
Blackadder: Baldrick, I've told you before, if you're going to do that, go into the garden.
Baldrick: I mean I've come into some money.
Blackadder: Really? Family inheritance?
Baldrick: Nah, I ate that ages ago.
Blackadder: Yes, of course. Your thoughtful father bequeathed you a turnip.
Baldrick: No, it was fifty pounds, actually. This is just a little something that fell in my lap.
Blackadder: Not the first time there's been a little something in your lap, Baldrick.
Baldrick: No, but this one is a job.
Blackadder: Really? I just don't understand it. Where on Earth did they find a man so utterly without heart and soul, so low and degraded as to accept the job of beheading the King of England? [as his words sink in, Blackadder has a realisation] Baldrick? That little job that fell into your lap? It wasn't, by any chance, something to do with an axe, a basket, a little black mask and the King of England?
Baldrick: No.
Blackadder: Go on...
Baldrick: I couldn't find a basket.
Blackadder: You very small total bastard! [grabs a meat cleaver and holds it to Baldrick's throat]
Baldrick: Please, Sir, don't kill me! I have a cunning plan to save the king!
Blackadder: Well, forgive me if I don't do a cartwheel of joy. Your family's record in the department of cunning planning is about impressive as Stumpy Oleg McNoLeg's personal best in the Market Harborough marathon! [sighes] All right, what's the plan?
Baldrick: [holds up a pumpkin]
Blackadder: A pumpkin is going to save the king?
Baldrick: Ah. But over here, I have one that I made earlier. [holds up a pumpkin with a face and wig] I will balance it on the King's head, like this, then I will cover his real head with a cloak. And then, when I execute him, instead of cutting off his real head, I will cut off the pumpkin and the king survives!
Blackadder: I'm not sure it's going to work, Balders.
Baldrick: Why not?
Blackadder: Because once you've cut it off, you have to hold it up in front of the crowd and say "This is the head of a traitor," at which point they will shout back "No, it's not. It's a large pumpkin with a pathetic mustache drawn on it."
Baldrick: I suppose it's not 100 percent convincing...
Blackadder: It's not 1 percent convincing. However, I am a busy man and I can't be bothered to punch you at the moment. Here is my fist. Kindly run towards it as fast as you can. [Baldrick does so] I just don't understand. What possessed you to take the job?
Baldrick: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. It was just a wild, silly, foolish plan. I thought, with the money I got from executing the king, I could sneak out and buy a brand new king when no one was looking and pop him back on the throne without anyone noticing.
Blackadder: Your head is as empty as a eunuch's underpants. You'd do anything for thirty pieces of silver, wouldn't you?
Baldrick: It was a thousand pounds, actually, sir. Plus tip.
Blackadder: [His eyes light up and he takes the money bag from Baldrick] Well, I suppose somebody's got to do it. And it should be done in a single stroke by someone who actually owns an axe. We don't want you hacking away all day with that cheap penknife of yours. It'd be so embarrassing to see King Charles staggering around Hampton Court with his neck flapping like a fish's gills.
Baldrick: Sir, you don't mean-?
Blackadder: Yep, I'm doing it. Lend me your costume, then go meekly to the king and inform him that Sir Edmund Blackadder cannot be with him. And make sure you think up a bloody good excuse.

Baldrick: So that's why he can't be here. Sorry.
King Charles I: I see. I... I quite understand.

[Baldrick leaves the room, then Cromwell and Blackadder (disguised as the executioner) arrive.]

Cromwell: Sir, the moment has arrived. Are you ready to meet your maker?
King Charles I: Well, I'm always absolutely fascinated to meet people of all walks of life, but, yes, particularly from manufacturing industries, which is my area of expertise.
Cromwell: Well then, have a quick walk-and-talk with your executioner and let's get on with it! [Leaves]
King Charles I: [to Executioner] I'm sorry, my friend, I'm alone here today. I had hoped that my good, loyal chum, Sir Edmund Blackadder, would be here with me, but unfortunately his wife's sister's puppy fell into the strawberry patch. So, naturally, he can't be with us.
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] Uh-huh.
King Charles I: All I can do is bid you do your duty well.
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] Well, thank you, Your Majesty. And may I say how much I mourn for your lot and bid you remember others before you who have died unjustly.
King Charles I: Thank you. I take great solace in-
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] Sir Thomas More, for instance. A great, generous man to the last. He apparently tipped his executioner handsomely. [Holds out his hand]
King Charles I: Really? I'm so sorry. I thought service was included. Um, here you are. [Hands out a single coin.]
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] And then there was the Earl of Essex.
King Charles I: Was there?
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] A truly great man. They still sing his famous ballad down the Chepstow Arms.
King Charles I: What ballad is that?
Blackadder: [Nasally voice, singing] The Earl, he had a thousand sovereigns, hey nonny no! Gave them all away to the man with the axe-o!
King Charles I: A thousand sovereigns?
Blackadder: [Nasally voice] Well, you can't take it with you, Your Majesty.
King Charles I: True. Here, do keep the change. [Hands over the whole money bag.]
Blackadder: [Accidentally slipping back to his normal voice] Thank you, Your Majesty. Right, shall we go?
King Charles I: Just a moment! That voice has a strangely familiar ring. And so does that finger!

[King Charles takes off the executioner's cowl.]

King Charles I: Blackadder!
Blackadder: Hello, Your Majesty!
King Charles I: You cunning swine!
Blackadder: Yes, well, uh-
King Charles I: Marvellous! Splendid! You've duped Cromwell and concocted a cunning plan to help me and my son escape to France!
Blackadder: Ah yes, that's right. Yes.
King Charles I: So, let's put your cunning plan into operation straight away!
Blackadder: Yes, let's. Uh... Well, you start the ball rolling.
King Charles I: No, no, after you.
Blackadder: Right. Yes... Ah, oh yes! Yes, right, and it's a very good plan. It's a staggering, bowel-shatteringly good plan.

Baldrick: Well, sir, they can't say you didn't try. Now the future of the British monarchy lies fast asleep in your arms in the person of this infant prince. And with the money you've earned, you and he can escape to France.
Blackadder: Quite.
Baldrick: On the other hand, you can stay here, and as a known royalist, the Roundheads'll come and cut your head off.
Blackadder: Exactly, Baldrick.

[Banging on the door]

Blackadder: Oh my god!
Roundhead Soldier: Open up, or we'll burn the house down!
Baldrick: Oh no! We're surrounded! What'll we do?
Blackadder: At times like this, Baldrick, there is no choice for a man of honour. He must stand, fight and die in defense of his... future sovereign.

[More banging on the door]

Blackadder: Fortunately, I'm not a man of honour.

[Blackadder tosses the infant prince to Baldrick, then removes his hair, moustache and beard to reveal a clean-shaven face and a blond bowl head haircut just as Cromwell bursts in.]

Blackadder: [to Cromwell] Thank god you've come! [points at Baldrick] Seize the royalist scum!

Blackadder's Christmas CarolEdit

[Blackadder shouts from outside.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: HUMBUG! HUMBUG! HUMBUG!
[Blackadder enters his shop, holding a paper bag]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Humbug, Mr. Baldrick?
[Blackadder offers him the bag, which contains humbug sweets.]
Baldrick: Oh, thank you very much.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, I've got all the presents.
Baldrick: And I've nearly finished the Christmas cards.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, splendid! Let's see... "A Very Messy Christmas". I'm sorry, Mr Baldrick, shouldn't that be 'Merry'?
Baldrick: "A Merry, Messy Christmas"? Alright, but the main thing is it should be messy - messy cake, soggy pudding, great big wet kisses under the mistletoe.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes. I do fear, Mr Baldrick, that the only way you're likely to get a big wet kiss at Christmas, or indeed at any other time, is to make a pass at a water closet. Be that as it may, A Merry, Messy Christmas. "Christmas" has an 'H' in it, Mr Baldrick.
Baldrick: Oh.
Ebenezer Blackadder: And an 'R'. And an 'I', and an 'S'. Also a 'T', an 'M', an 'A', and another 'S'. Oh, and you've missed out the 'C' at the beginning. Congratulations, Mr Baldrick, something of a triumph. I believe you must be the first person ever to spell "Christmas" without getting any of the letters right at all. (The end credits reveal Baldrick initially spelled it as "Kweznuz")
Baldrick: Well, I was a bit rushed. I've been helping out with the Workhouse Nativity Play.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, of course! How did it go?
Baldrick: Well, not very well. At the last moment, the baby playing Jesus died!
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh dear. This high infant mortality rate is a real devil when it comes to staging quality children's entertainment. What on earth did you do?
Baldrick: Got another Jesus.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, thank goodness. And his name?
Baldrick: Spot. There weren't any more children, so we had to settle for a dog instead.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh dear. I'm not convinced that Christianity would have established its firm grip over the hearts and minds of mankind if all Jesus had ever said was 'Woof'.
Baldrick: Well, it went alright 'til the shepherds came on. See, we hadn't been able to get any real sheep, so we had to stick some wool-
Ebenezer Blackadder: On some other dogs.
Baldrick: Right. And the moment Jesus got a whiff of 'em, he's away! While the angel's singing, Jesus scampers across the floor and tries to get one of the sheep to give him a piggyback ride.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Scarcely appropriate behaviour for the Son of God, Mr Baldrick. Weren't the children upset?
Baldrick: Nah, they loved it. They want us to do another one at Easter - they want to see us nail up the dog.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Ah, the playful young scamps, eh? Still, what a lovely thought it is: at this very moment, all over the country, from the highest to the lowest, through those charming plump folks somewhere in the middle, everyone is enjoying Christmas.

Queen Victoria: What are you doing, Albert?
Prince Albert: Nothing.
Queen Victoria: Oh, yes you are, you naughty German sausage. Tell me what you're doing.
Prince Albert: I just said I'm not doing anything! Really, woman, when you're busy ruling India, you don't tell me what you are doing. So why should I tell you what I am doing when I am busy wrapping up this cushion for your surprise Christmas present?
Queen Victoria: [delighted] Oh!
Prince Albert: [annoyed at himself] Dem! Now I only have two surprise presents for you.
Queen Victoria: Oh, dear Albie, don't worry. I don't mind.
Prince Albert: [sad] I do! I love surprises. Christmas without surprises is like nuts without a nutcracker. Which is why I have brought you this surprise nutcracker... Dem! Dem!
Queen Victoria: Oh, darling Bobo, don't worry. Besides, haven't you forgotten something?
Prince Albert: What?
Queen Victoria: Our traditional Christmas adventure.
Prince Albert: [jubilant] Oh yes, the traditional Christmas adventure! Huzzah!
Queen Victoria: [jubilant] Huzzah!
Prince Albert: [confused] What traditional Christmas adventure?
Queen Victoria: Silly soldier. You know, when we disguise ourselves as common folk and go out amongst the people to reward the virtuous and the good.
Prince Albert: Oh yes, of course! Dummkopf! How could I forget? For it is precisely such an outing that I have brought you my final surprise present. This muff, which I'm going to give you tomorrow... Dem. Dem! Dem!

Ebenezer Blackadder: Ah, excellent. What a splendid spread - nuts, turkey and presents. What more could a man desire at Christmas?
Baldrick: Well, a tree.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, of course! I quite forgot. I dropped by Mr Thitwhistle's Garden Emporium, and, I think you'll agree, got quite a bargain on this special Christmas twig.
Baldrick: It's a bit of a tiddler, innit?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, but size isn't important, my friend. It's not what you've got, it's where you stick it. [places the twig in a candlestick holder] Besides, look. We've got a whole year's profits to spend on fun and larks.
Baldrick: How much is it?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Seventeen pounds and a penny.
Baldrick: It'd be a lot more if you didn't give away so much money to the poor.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, yes, but in the Feeling-Good ledger of life, we are rich indeed.
Baldrick: I just wish we weren't doing so well in the Bit-Short-Of-Prezzies-And-Being-A-Guillible-Prat ledger.

Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, baste my steaming puddings!

Ebenezer Blackadder: Ah, Mrs Scratchit! Greetings to you on this merry Yuletide Eve.
Mrs Scratchit: Oh, Mr Blackadder! How can I be merry when we are so poor? We shall have nothing to eat on Christmas Day, except what Grandfather can scrape from under his big toenails. No goose for Tiny Tom this year!
Ebenezer Blackadder: Mrs Scratchit, Tiny Tom is fifteen stone and built like a brick privy. If he eats any more heartily he will turn into a pie shop.

Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, peel my tangerines!

Baldrick: Go on, my lord. Give it a little pull. You know you want to. It'll be ever so exciting.
Lord Blackadder: [completely uninterested] Oh, god. [Blackadder pulls the tiny Christmas cracker with Baldrick. There's a squeak instead of a bang] [sarcastic] Yes, terrifying.
Baldrick: And look, there's a surprise present inside. It's a novelty death warrant, and you give it to a friend.
[Baldrick gives the death warrant to Blackadder]
Lord Blackadder: [sarcastic] Oh, just what I've always wanted.[crumples it into a ball]
Baldrick: Have you got anything for me?
Lord Blackadder: Oh it's nothing, really!
Baldrick: [touched] Oh sir!
Lord Blackadder: No, it's really nothing; I haven't got you anything. I spent all my cash on this damn thing for the Queen. [reveals a portrait of Elizabeth I] She'd better bloody like it, she dropped enough hints. That woman's about as subtle as a rhinoceros horn up the backside. Door!

Lord Blackadder: Ah, Melchett! Greetings! I trust Christmas brings you its traditional mix of good food and violent stomach cramp.
Lord Melchett: And compliments of the season to you, Blackadder. May the Yuletide log slip from your fire and burn your house down.
Lord Blackadder: I'm glad I saw you; I feel it only fair to warn you that the Queen has banned Christmas. So I wouldn't get her a present this year.
Lord Melchett: Oh, I'm indebted to you for that advice, Blackadder, and I shall, of course, follow it to the letter...[under his breath as he walks away] the day I get my brain replaced by a cauliflower.
Lord Blackadder: [jubilant] Ha! Got him with my subtle plan!
Baldrick: I can't see any subtle plan.
Lord Blackadder: Baldrick, you wouldn't see a subtle plan if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord, singing "Subtle Plans are Here Again!". It what we call a double bluff. Melchett will undoubtedly do the opposite of what I tell him. He'll go get an enormous present, bring it to the Queen, and [makes throat cutting motion and sound]
Baldrick: What, he'll turn into a duck?
Lord Blackadder: Yes...

Nursie: Pity about this, tinky-wink; you always used to love this time of year!
Queenie: I know. Leaving a little mince pie and a glass of wine out for Father Christmas, and then scoffing it, because I was a princess and could do what I bloody well liked!
Nursie: And wondering if your father's wife would last until Boxing Day without having her head cut off.
Queenie: We knew if he gave her a hat, she'd probably be alright.
Nursie: Happy days.
Queenie: Yes. Maybe I was a little rash.

Queenie: Now Blackadder, what have you got me?
Lord Blackadder: [having destroyed her Christmas present] Um...
Queenie: I WANT A PREZZIE! Give me something nice and shiny, and if you don't, I've got something nice and shiny for you: it's called AN AXE!

[after the Spirit of Christmas has shown Ebenezer a vision of Lord Blackadder]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Good grief!
Spirit of Christmas: Horrible, eh? What a pig!
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, but, clearly, quite a clever, charming pig. Er, but, no, his behaviour was disgraceful.
Spirit of Christmas: Aye, you're a great improvement on them all. You're a good boy!
Ebenezer Blackadder: 'Them'? Are there more?
Spirit of Christmas: Oh, yes. Have a shufti at this. [starts the next vision]

Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: So, shall I begin the story, sir?
The Prince Regent: Absolutely, as long as it's not that terribly depressing one about the chap who gets born on Christmas Day, shoots his mouth off about everything under the sun, and then comes a cropper with a couple of rum coves on top of a hill in Johnny Arab land!
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: You mean, Jesus?
The Prince Regent: Yes, that's the bloke! Keep him out of it; he always spoils the Xmas atmos!

[Blackadder tricks Prince George into giving away his Christmas presents with the help of an old woman whom he thinks is Baldrick in disguise, as per the plan]
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: Excellent, excellent, Baldrick, a triumph! [sees the vestibule is empty] Baldrick? Baldrick?
[Baldrick walks, dressed unconvincingly as a woman and nothing like the old woman Blackadder let in]
Baldrick: Sorry, Mr. B. I was just showing a sweet old granny to the door. Are we ready?
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: What?
Baldrick: Well, I answered the door and it was this sweet old granny collecting for charity, so I let her in.
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: Ah... I should've known not to trust a man with the mental agility of a rabbit dropping.
Baldrick: Sorry, Mr. B.
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: Oh, it's perfectly alright, it's not your fault. [he floors Baldrick with a punch] Still, I fear for a frail, elderly woman, laden down with valuables, traveling through the inadequately lit streets of London.
Baldrick: Yeah, she's not safe!
Edmund Blackadder, Esq.: Well, not from me, certainly!

[after the Spirit of Christmas has shown Ebenezer a vision of Edmund Blackadder, Esq.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Very amusing!
Spirit of Christmas: In what way?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Um, the wigs. Very amusing wigs. But his behaviour, as you say, disgraceful. But... but he actually got the presents?
Spirit of Christmas: [haltingly] Y-yes.
Ebenezer Blackadder: So there is something to be made out of being bad?
Spirit of Christmas: Technically. Technically, yes. But that's not the point, is it? It's the soul. The soul.
Ebenezer Blackadder: As a matter of interest, what would happen in the future if I was bad?
Spirit of Christmas: Erm... heavens, is that the time? I really must be off!
Ebenezer Blackadder: I'd love to see Christmas Future!
Spirit of Christmas: Oh no, you wouldn't. It's terribly melodramatic.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Look, just show it. Please?
Spirit of Christmas: Alright. [halfheartedly begins the next vision]

Triple-Husbandoid: Hail Queen Asphyxia, Supreme Mistress of the Universe!
Queen Asphyxia: And hail to you, my Triple-Husbandoid! I summon you here to group-greet our swift imperial navies home. Approach, Grand Admiral of the Dark Segment and Lord of the High-Slung Bottoms of Zob!
Admiral Blackadder: Morning.
Frondo: To you, Blackadder — thrice-endowed Supreme Donkey of the Trouser-Pod — this much greeting.
Pigmot: I, too, bold navigator, cringe my dribblies at your resplendent pofflesnu!
Blackadder: Yes, well, that won’t be necessary, thank you.
Queen Asphyxia: Approach your slave: Baldrick! (he enters wearing leather underpants and poses)
Admiral Blackadder: For God’s sake, Baldrick . If you’re going to wear that ridiculous jockstrap, at least keep your legs together.
Baldrick: (stands and salutes) Wilco, skipper!
Admiral Blackadder: Majesties, I give you this much greeting.
Frondo: What news of the foul Malmydons?
Admiral Blackadder: Scattered to the Nine Vectors, My Lord.
Frondo: And the Sheepsqueezers of Splatican Five? Have they been suckcreamed as a Qvarnbeast’s nobbo?
Admiral Blackadder: ...Well they're all dead, if that's what you mean.
Pigmot: Plus, Commander, did you vanquish the Nibblepibblies?
Admiral Blackadder: No, My Lord Pigmot, I did not vanquish the Nibblepibblies because you just made them up.
Pigmot: Dammit!
Queen Asphyxia: [laughs] Excellent, Commander! Now, bring forth the gift with which you honour me.
Admiral Blackadder: Majesties, from a place where the stars begin and end, I bring you this.
[Blackadder holds up a crystal scepter.]
Nursie: Ooh, lovely, an ashtray!
Pigmot: Come, Majesty, he wastes our time!
Frondo: Yes, send him to the Sprouting Chamber!
Queen Asphyxia: No, wait! What is it, Commander?
Admiral Blackadder: Well, I'll show you, shall I?
[A blinding light shoots out of the scepter, and when it clears, Queen Asphyxia is left alone on the throne. Blackadder then hands the scepter to Baldrick and approaches the queen]
Admiral Blackadder: And now, Your Majesty, I must respectfully insist that you hand over to me supreme command of the universe, sew a button on my spare uniform and marry me this afternoon.
Queen Asphyxia: [eagerly] I thought you'd never ask.

Triple-Husbandoid: Hail Queen Asphyxia, Supreme Mistress of the Universe!
Queen Asphyxia: And hail to you, my Triple-Husbandoid! I summon you here to group-greet our swift imperial navies home. Approach, Grand Admiral of the Dark Segment and Lord of the High-Slung Bottoms of Zob!
Admiral Baldrick: Hail!
Queen Asphyxia: And your slave.
[Blackadder walks in wearing leather underpants]
Queen Asphyxia: What's his name?
Admiral Baldrick: I can't remember, Your Majesty.
Frondo: No matter, Supreme Marshal of the Smells. What news of the Foul Malmydons?
Admiral Baldrick: Good news...
Queen Asphyxia: Excellent!
Admiral Baldrick: ...for the Malmydons. They wiped out our entire army. Sorry, I got a bit confused and dropped a bomb on our own lot.
Queen Asphyxia: Silence, squidling! Bring forth the gift with which you honour me.
Admiral Baldrick: Oh damn, I forgot the bloody present.

Ebenezer Blackadder: So one way, it's glory everlasting, the other, it's wearing Baldrick's posing pouch.
Spirit of Christmas: Well, it's not so simplistic, but it does at least point to a very clear lesson.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Namely?
Spirit of Christmas: Namely that the rewards of virtue are largely spiritual, but all the better for it.
Ebenezer Blackadder: You don't think it points to the very clear lesson that bad guys have all the fun?
Spirit of Christmas: No, absolutely not! The rewards of virtue are infinitely more attractive. Picture it - quiet evenings in your hovel alone. A bible. Your own turnip.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, well, that makes all the difference.
Spirit of Christmas: So you're going to be a good boy then?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, absolutely.
[The spirit looks at Ebenezer suspiciously]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Would I lie to you?

[after the Spirit of Christmas has left. Ebenezer Blackadder wakes up the next morning]
Baldrick: Mr. Blackadder? [comes into the room holding his sock] Looks like Father Christmas just forgot about me this year.
Ebenezer Blackadder: Oh, dear me, [takes the sock] but don't be too unhappy. [puts his hand into the sock] Because if you look very carefully there's something in this stocking from me. In fact, it's something I made for you.
Baldrick: Well that's the kind of present that shows the most love. What did you make for me, Mr. B?
Ebenezer Blackadder: I've made you...[holds out his fist] a fist.
Baldrick: A fist?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, it's for hitting.
[punches Baldrick in the face]
Ebenezer Blackadder: What's wonderful about it is that you can use it again.
[punches Baldrick again]
Ebenezer Blackadder: And again.
[punches Baldrick again]
Ebenezer Blackadder: And again.
[punches Baldrick again]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, what do you say?
Baldrick: Thank you, Mr. B.
Ebenezer Blackadder: [puts his fist back into the sock] Think nothing of it, Baldrick. I after all think nothing of you.
[punches Baldrick again. There's a knock on the window, which comes from the young boy who swindled Ebenezer out of his last penny.]
Boy: Oi, gitface! How 'bout a penny for the season?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Hark! Do I hear the voice of a darling little cherub at the window?
[Ebenezer walks over and opens the window, causing the boy to fall to the ground with a scream.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: No, I must have imagined it.
[The doorbell rings.]
Baldrick: Shall I get that, sir?
Ebenezer Blackadder: No, Baldrick, leave them out in the snow until I get dressed. I'll only be about forty minutes.

[After getting dressed, Blackadder has Baldrick open the door, revealing the Beadle and the three fat orphans who swindled him out of his nuts. The Beadle has icicles hanging from his hat, and the orphans icicles hanging from their nostrils]
Beadle: Compliments of the season, sir. We have come to sing merrily and to make you a gift of a small pudding. Three, four!
Beadle & Fat Orphans: [singing]

"God bless Mr. B. at Christmastime, And Baby Jesus too. If we were little pigs, we'd sing 'Piggy wiggy, piggy wiggy woo! Piggy wiggy, wiggy wiggy, wiggy wiggy, wiggy wiggy, piggy wiggy, wiggy wiggy woo! Oh, piggy wiggy wiggy woo, piggy wiggy woo! Oh, piggy wiggy, piggy wiggy, wiggy wiggy woo!'"

Ebenezer Blackadder: [smiles, claps his hand four times] Utter crap.
Beadle: Thank you very much, sir.
1st Fat Orphan: Do we get a Christmas treat now?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, indeed, you do.
2nd Fat Orphan: What is it?
Ebenezer Blackadder: It's... a door in the face. Here you are. [slams the door shut.]

[Ebenezer is visited by his goddaughter Milicent, who took his presents and Christmas twig, and her fiancé, Ralph.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Ill-conceived love, I should warn you, is like a Christmas cracker - one massively disappointing bang and the novelty soon wears off.
[Unsure of how to make of this, Milicent and Ralph respond with their ear-grating, joyful, cackling laughter.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Shut up!
Milicent: Oh, Mr. Blackadder, what's happened? You've changed from the nicest man in England into the... the horridest man in the world!
Baldrick: I was thinking the same thing.
Ebenezer Blackadder: [smacks Baldrick on the back of the head] When spoken to. [to Milicent] I would explain, my dear, but I fear you wouldn't understand, blessed as you are with a head that is emptier than a hermit's address book.

[A reformed Ebenezer Blackadder hands Baldrick the money he just lifted from his goddaughter's fiancé.]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Baldrick, I want you to take this and go out and buy a turkey so large, you'd think its mother had been rogered by an omnibus. I'm going to have a party, and no one's invited but me!
[As he goes to leave, the door opens, and Mrs. Scratchit, a con artist who had openly extorted £17 from him the previous day, enters]
Mrs. Scratchit: Coo-eee!
Ebenezer Blackadder: No peace for the wicked.
Mrs. Scratchit: [sweetly] Ah, Mr. Ebenezer, I was wondering if you had perhaps a little present for me? Or had found me a little fowl for Tiny Tom's Christmas?
Ebenezer Blackadder: I've always found you foul, Mrs. Scratchit, and more than a little. [she looks shocked] As for Tiny Tom's Christmas, he can stuff it up his enormous muscular backside.
Mrs. Scratchit: But he's a cripple!
Ebenezer Blackadder: He's not a cripple, Mrs. Scratchit. Occasionally saying "phew, my leg hurts" when he remembers to wouldn't fool Baldrick.
Baldrick: It did, actually.
Ebenezer Blackadder: However, if you want something for lunch, [picks up a pale with a streak of grey slop down its' side] take this. It's a pound a lump and, as luck would have it, there are 17 lumps left. [Takes back the money she had swindled from him earlier] Thank you.
Mrs. Scratchit: But what about my Tiny Tom?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, if I was you, I'd scoop him out and use him as a houseboat. Good day.
[Mrs. Scratchit walks out, crying]
Baldrick: Mister B, where's the milk of human kindness?
Ebenezer Blackadder: It's gone off, Baldrick. It stinks. [the doorbell rings] Get that, and whoever it is, slam the door in their face, otherwise I'll slam your face in the door!

[Baldrick opens the door to Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and their aide.]
Prince Albert: Hello, small dwarf fellow. Is this the house of renowned philanthropist and all-around softie Ebenezer Blackadder?
Baldrick: Well, Mr Blackadder lives here, but-
Prince Albert: Ah, that is good, because we have a wundebar secret.
Baldrick: What secret?
Queen Victoria: We are Queen Victoria.
Baldrick: What, all three of you?
Queen Victoria: [laughs] My dear little is our Royal Seal [she presents it to Baldrick, who goes down on one knee]. We have come to present your master with £50,000 and the title of Baron Blackadder for being the kindest man in England!
Baldrick: Lovely, your Majesty. [Blackadder, not realising what's going on, storms over]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Baldrick, what did I tell you I'd do if you didn't slam the door in the faces of these scrounging loafers?
Baldrick: But, Mr. Blackadder- OW! [As promised, Blackadder slams the door in Baldrick's face, then slams it shut on the royals]
Ebenezer Blackadder: I'm not at home to guests. [the royals let themselves in again]
Prince Albert: I flatter myself, we are rather special guests.
Ebenezer Blackadder: [sarcastic, not realising who they are] But of course! I must apologise; it is not often that one receives a Christmas visit from two distinguished guests!
Prince Albert: Ah, so you recognise us at last?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, unless I'm very much mistaken, you're the winner of the "Round Britain Shortest, Fattest, Dumpiest Woman" competition. And for her to be accompanied by the winner of this year's "Stupidest Accent Award" is really quite overwhelming. [Victoria and Albert look mortified]
Queen Victoria: Sir, I cannot believe-!
Ebenezer Blackadder: Cork it, fatso! Don't you realise that this is the Victorian Age where, apart from Queen Piglet Features herself, [Albert covers her ears] women and children are to be seen and not heard.
Prince Albert: [outraged] Queen Piglet Features!?
Ebenezer Blackadder: Yes, Empress Oink, as lads call her. The only person in the kingdom that looks dafter than her is that stupid frankfurter of a husband. [Albert covers his own ears] "The Pig and the Prig", we call them! How they ever managed to produce their 112 children is quite beyond me. The bed chambers at Buckingham Palace must be copiously supplied with blindfolds.
Queen Victoria: Sir, we have never been so insulted in our entire lives! [they storm out]
Ebenezer Blackadder: Well, all I can say is you've been damn lucky.

Blackadder Back & ForthEdit

Blackadder: I'm sorry about the food, by the way. Unfortunately, my cook got invited to an orgy at Delia Smith's house, and so our chef for this evening is the man who cleans out the septic tank. Baldrick!

Blackadder: Now, where were we?
George: We were bally well toasting the future!
Blackadder: Yes. And it might, perhaps, also be a good time to look to the past.
Lady Elizabeth: How can anyone look to the past? You can't see something that's already happened.
Melchett: Unless you're on the lavatory.
George: Good point, Bish.
Blackadder: Or unless one has a time machine.
Darling: And how likely is that?
Blackadder: Well, very likely, actually, Darling, because I've just built one.
Melchett: Stuff and stonsense! I've heard some rubbish in my time - every time I open my mouth, as a matter of fact! But a time machine? It's just cobblers!
Blackadder: I can assure you, it is not.

Blackadder: [unveiling his time machine] This is an original sketchbook by Leonardo da Vinci, and in the last year, I myself have built a time machine to its' exact specifications. Ladies and gentlemen, the greatest breakthrough in travel since Mr. Rodney Tricycle thought to himself, "I'm bored with walking, I think I'll invent a machine with three wheels and a bell, and name it after myself." Behold, the time machine!
Melchett: Well, glaze my nipples and call me Winter!
George: It can't be real, Blackadder. It's a practical joke, surely.
Blackadder: Certainly not. When was the last time I played a practical joke?
Darling: Well, there was the time you said you were dying of kidney failure, and I donated one of my kidneys to save your life, but then you said it was an April Fool and... we had to throw my kidney away.

Blackadder: [To Baldrick] Fascinating. One of history's great mysteries solved. The dinosaurs were in fact wiped out by your pants.

Blackadder: Well, Balders, this is a turn-up for the books. You've built a working time machine and are therefore, rather surprisingly, the greatest genius who has ever lived!

[Blackadder punches William Shakespeare.]
Blackadder: That is for every schoolboy and schoolgirl for the next 400 years! Do you have any idea how much suffering you're going to cause? Hours spent at school desks trying to find one joke in A Midsummer Night's Dream? Years spent wearing stupid tights in school plays saying things like 'what ho, my lord' and 'look, here cometh Othello talking total crap as usual'? Oh, and... [kicks Shakespeare] That is for Ken Branagh's endless, uncut, four-hour version of Hamlet!
Shakespeare: Who's Ken Branagh?
Blackadder: I'll tell him you said that. And I think he'll be very hurt.

Robin Hood: Well, well! What have we here, my tough band of freedom fighters, who have good muscle tone and aren't gay?!

Blackadder: What puzzles me is this - you rob from the rich?
Merry Men: [enthusiastically] Yes!
Robin Hood: That's right, yeah.
Blackadder: And then, when you rob the rich, you give it all to the poor?
Merry Men: [enthusiastically] Yes!
Robin Hood: I love giving it to the poor! Woof!
Blackadder: Now that's the bit I don't understand. You men risk your lives in battle?
Merry Men: [enthusiastically] Yes!
Blackadder: You risk certain death if you're caught?
Merry Men: [slightly less enthusiastically] Yes...
Blackadder: You live in this forest in total squalor? I mean, I'd hate to imagine what the toilet facilities are like.
Merry Men: [thoughtfully chatting] Not very nice, actually.
Blackadder: And yet you still give every single penny to these so-called poor, who just sit on their backsides all day...
Robin Hood: [uneasily] Alright, shut up now.
Blackadder: ...laughing at you and saying "Oh, no need to go to work today. Robin Hood and his Merry Men will be along in a minute with a big pile of cash!"
Robin Hood: I said shut up!
Blackadder: I'm surprised they don't call you Robin Hood and his bunch of Complete Lunatics.
Robin Hood: Right, that's it! Shoot him, boys! I'm great and he's not!
Blackadder: Robin Hood and his band of Merry Morons.

Blackadder: Well, Maid Marian was very friendly.
Baldrick: So was Will Scarlet. Really nice guy.

Blackadder: [crouched beneath Hadrian's Wall] That's interesting; the machine seems to be seeking out our DNA across time.
[Atop the wall, a Roman Blackadder and Baldrick stand at attention]
Centurion Blaccadicus: Just brilliant!
Legionary Baldricus: What, O Centurion?
Centurion Blaccadicus: We're facing a horde of ginger maniacs, with wild goats nesting in their huge orange beards-or to put it another way, the Scots!-and how does our inspired leader Hadrian intend to keep out this vast army of lunatics!? By building a a three-foot high wall! [sarcastic] A terrifying obstacle! About as frightening as a little rabbit with the word "Boo!" painted on its nose! [Baldricus shudders]
Consul Georgius: Oh come now, Centurion! I won't have that! This wall is a terrific defence mechanism! Surely you're not suggesting that a rabble of Scots could get the better of Roman soldiers!?
[Further conversation is halted by the arrival of General Melchicus]
Consul Georgius: Ah, welcome General!
General Melchicus: Splendid! Good to see you practicing your English, Georgius! [continues in Latin] However, important news- Rome is being attacked on all sides, and so far the Emperor's only response has been to poison his mother and marry his horse. The Senate is therefore withdrawing troops from Britain to defend our Imperial city.
Centurion Blaccadicus: Did you hear that, Balders?
Legionary Baldricus: I certainly did, Centurion!
Centurion Blaccadicus: Back to Rome, at last!
General Melchicus: [in Latin] BAAA!
Consul Georgius: [looking beyond the wall] I say, this is interesting. There appears to be a large orange hedge moving towards us.
Centurion Blaccadicus: That's not a hedge, Consul. That's the Scots.
[A horde of bloodthirsty Scots warriors starts charging towards the wall, letting up a fearsome war cry.]
General Melchicus: [in Latin] Ah. Continue. [heads off]
Baldrick: Should we run, my lord?
Blackadder: Yes!
[Blackadder swipes Georgius' helmet and runs with Baldrick back to the time machine.]
Centurion Blaccadicus: Perhaps we could negotiate!
Blackadder: [to Baldrick] Last one there gets hacked to pieces by Rod Stewart's great-great-grandfather!

Blackadder: Let's get home, Baldrick!
Baldrick: [wailing] But we don't know where home is! We're doomed to float through time, for all time! OH, WOE IS ME...!!
Blackadder: [notices a button] Shut up, Baldrick, shut up. There is one final thing to push which may be our salvation! [he pushes it; nothing happens] ...Or not. [Pulls it out] Because it is, in fact, a lollipop.
Baldrick: Raspberry flavoured, my lord.
Blackadder: [sitting down] Oh God. I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a small wooden room with two toilets and the stupidest man in the world.
Baldrick: Wait, my lord, do not despair. For I have a cunning plan.
Blackadder: ...Can I say I'm not optimistic, Baldrick?
Baldrick: To be quite frank, my lord, neither am I. My family have never been very good at plans.
Blackadder: So, with suitably low expectations, what is your cunning plan to get us home?
Baldrick: Well, my lord, you know how, when people drown, their whole life flashes in front of them?
Blackadder: Yeeees?
Baldrick: Well, if you stuck your head in a bucket of water and didn't bring it out again, then your whole life would flash in front of you, and you'd see where all the knobs and levers were when first set off. And then, if you pulled your head out again, just before you died, you could guide us home!
Blackadder: [standing up] Baldrick...
Baldrick: My lord?
Blackadder: Good plan. But perhaps just one tiny modification...
Baldrick: Hmm?
[Blackadder punches Baldrick and shoves his head down a toilet]
Blackadder: [pulls Baldrick out] How's it going?
Baldrick: I'm eighteen years old, I've just left nursery school!
Blackadder: Okey-dokey! [drowns Baldrick some more, then pulls him out]
Baldrick: I'm twenty five; I'm back at nursery school!
[Sighing in annoyance, Blackadder drowns him even more; he finally sees the combination, and Blackadder pulls him out]
Baldrick: [spitting out water] GOT IT!
Blackadder: Very good.
Baldrick: [gasping] I wish... I wish I'd flushed the loo first!
Blackadder: [looking down it] Oh, yes...

Baldrick: As we approach the end, my lord, what do you think we've learned on our great journey?
Blackadder: Good question, Baldrick. I suppose I've learned that I must buy you a much stronger mouthwash for Christmas this year. How about you?
Baldrick: Oh, I dunno. I suppose I've learned that human beings have always been the same. Some nice, some nasty; some clever, some stupid; there's always a Blackadder and there's always a Baldrick.
Blackadder: Yes, very profound, Baldrick.
Baldrick: Also, it occurs to me...
Blackadder: [annoyed] Oh God, there's not more, is there?
Baldrick: ...If you're in the right place at the right time, then every person has the power to go out and change the world for the better.
Blackadder: God, you really are as thick as clotted cream, that's been left out by some clot, until the clots are so clotted up you couldn't un-clot them with an electric de-clotter... aren't you, Baldrick? Real change comes from huge socioeconomic things that individuals have no effect on.
Baldrick: Unless you're King or Prime Minister or something.
Blackadder: Well, yes, I suppose they can make a difference. But for the rest of us, all we can do in life is to try to make a bit of cash! [the machine finally arrives home] Which is what I intend to do right now.

Melchett: Well done, Blackadder! But tell me, all this stuff about changing history through time travel. You must have to have been damnsome careful.
Blackadder: Oh, I was. Very careful.
George: So tell us, Blackadder, did you meet up with any big name celebs?
Blackadder: Why, as a matter of fact, I did. For instance, this hat belong to none other than Robin Hood.
George: [confused] Who?
Blackadder: Robin Hood.
Darling: Never heard of him. You'll have to do better than that, Blackadder.
Blackadder: Right. So you've never heard of Robin Hood?
[The guests all give an uneasy 'no']
Blackadder: Well, this is the title page for Macbeth, signed by Shakespeare himself.
[The guests look at Blackadder like he's grown a second head]
Melchett: No, no, wait, you all remember Shakespeare. He's the fellow who invented the ballpoint pen!
Blackadder: Well, I might have affected one or two things, but nothing important.
George: Never mind that, you certainly won your bet! So here's your ten thousand francs, and jolly well deserved, too!
Blackadder: What do you mean 'francs'?
George: What do you mean "What do I mean 'francs'"?
Blackadder: Well, sure you mean 'ten thousand pounds'?
[The guests burst out laughing]
Melchett: Pounds? We haven't used pounds for two hundred years! Not since Emperor Napoleon won the Battle of Waterloo! Which reminds me, it's time for us to get to the television. Monsieur le President will be broadcasting from Versailles at any moment!

Blackadder: Come on, Balders! We've got to save Britain!

Blackadder: Baldrick, I have a very, very, very cunning plan.
Baldrick: Is it as cunning as a fox what used to be Professor of Cunning at Oxford University but has moved on, and is now working for the UN at the High Commission of International Cunning Planning?
Blackadder: Yes, it is.
Baldrick: Mm... That's cunning!


The Black AdderEdit

Blackadder IIEdit

Blackadder the ThirdEdit

Blackadder Goes ForthEdit

Blackadder: The Cavalier YearsEdit

Blackadder's Christmas CarolEdit

Blackadder Back & ForthEdit

External linksEdit

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