Blackadder IV, Episode 3 - Major Star

Black Adder IV, Episode 3

Major Star

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(in the army barracks, sound of whistling is heard)

(Edmund sighs)

George: You're a bit cheezed off, sir?

Edmund: George, the day this war began I was cheezed off. Within ten minutes
        of you turning up, I finished the cheeze and moved on to the coffee
        and cigars. And at this late stage, I'm in a cab with two lady com-
        panions on my way to the Pink Pussycat in Lower Regency.

George: Oh well, because if you are cheezed off, you know what would cheer
        you up, alot of Charlie Chaplin films. Oh, I love Old Chappers, don't
        you, Cap?

Edmund: Unfortuately no I don't. I find his films about as funny as getting an
        arrow through the neck and discovering there's a gas bill tied to it.

George: Ah, beg pardon, sir, but come off! His films are ball-bouncingly funny.

Edmund: Rubbish!

George: Alright, why let's consult the men for a casting vote, shall we? Bal-
        drick?

Baldrick: (entering) Sir!

George: Charlie Chaplin, Baldrick. What do you make of him?

Baldrick: Oh sir, he's as funny as a vegetable that's grown into a rude and
          amusing shape, sir.

Edmund: So you agree with me. Not at all funny?

George: Oh come on, skipper, it ain't fair. I haven't asked for all of this.
        When he kicked that fellow in the backside, I thought I'd die!

Edmund: Well, if that's your idea of comedy, we can provide our own without
        (??) for the priviledge. (kicks Baldrick) There, you find that funny?

George: Well, no of course not, sir, but you see, Chaplin is a genius.

Edmund: He certainly is a genuis, George. He invented a way of getting a
        million dollars a year by wearing stupid trousers. Did you find that
        funny, Baldrick?

Baldrick: What funny, sir?

Edmund: (kicks Baldrick again) That funny.

Baldrick: No sir, you mustn't do that to me sir, because that is a bourgois
          act of repression, sir.

Edmund: What?

Baldrick: I think I smelt it sir, there's something afoot in the wind. The
          huddled masses yearning to be free.

Edmund: Baldrick, have you been through the diesel oil again?

Baldrick: No sir, I've been sopping the milk of freedom. Already our Russian
          comrades are poised on the brink of Revolution. And here too, sir,
          the huddled what's-names such as myself, sir, are ready to throw
          off the hated oppressors like you and the Lieutenant. Present com
          pany accepted, sir.

Edmund: Go and clean out the latrines.

Baldrick: Yes sir, right away, sir.

George: Now the reason why Chaplin is so funny, because he's part of a great
        British music hall tradition.

Edmund: Oh yes, the Great British Music Hall Tradition. Two men, with incred-
        ibly unconvincing Cockney accents going, "what's up with you then?
        What's up with me then? Yeah, what's up with you then? (????????)"
        GET ON WITH IT!!!

George: Now sir, that was funny! You should have gotten a part yourself!

Edmund: Thank you, George, but if you don't mind, I'd rather have my tongue
        beaten wafer-thin by a steak tenderiser and then stapled to the floor
        with a croquet hoop.

(loud voices are heard outside)

Baldrick: (rushing in) Sir, sir, it's all over the trenches!

Edmund: Well, mop it up then.

Baldrick: No sir, the news. The Russian Revolution has started. The masses
          have risen up and shoveled their nobs!

George: Well, hurrah!

Edmund: (reading a newspaper) Oh no, the Russians have pulled out of the war.

George: Well, we soon sawed them off, didn't we sir? Miserable slant-eye,
        sausage eating swine.

Edmund: The Russians are on *our* side, George.

George: Oh really?

Edmund: And they've abandoned the Eastern Front.

Baldrick: And they've overthrown Nicholas II who used to be bizzare.

Edmund: Who used to be *the czar*, Baldrick. The point is, now that the
        Russians have made peace with the Kaiser. At this very moment,
        three quarters of a million Germans are leaving the Russian Front
        and coming over *here* with the express purpose of using my nipples
        for target practise. There's only one thing for it, I'll have to
        desert and I'm going to have to do it....right now.

(enter General Melchett)

Melchett: Are you leaving us, Blackadder?

Edmund: No sir.

Melchett: Well I'm relieved to hear it. I need you to help me shoot more
          deserters later on. There have been some subversive mutterings
          amongst the men. You'll recall the French army last year at
          Verdun where the top eschelons suffered from horrendeous uprisings
          from the bottom.

Edmund: Yes sir, but surely that was traced to a shipment of garlic eclairs.

Melchett: Nonsense Blackadder! It was bolshevist. Plain bolshevist! And now
          that the Ruskys have followed suit, I'm damned if I can let the
          same thing happen here.

Edmund: Oh, and what are you going to do about it, sir?

Melchett: I'm going to have a concert party to boost the men's morale.

George: A concert party, well, hurrah!

Melchett: You fancy an evening at a concert party, Blackadder?

Edmund: Well frankly sir, I'd rather spend an evening on top of a stepladder
        in No Man's Land smoking cigarettes through an illuminous balacava (?).

Melchett: Well, I didn't think it would be your cup of tea, but I do need
          someone to help me organise it, you know. Obviously not a tough
          grizzled old soldier like yourself, but some kind of dandified
          nancy-boy who will be prepared to spend the rest of the war in
          the London Palladium.

Edmund: The show's going to the London Palladium, sir?

Melchett: Oh yes of course. No good crushing the Revolution over here only
          to get back home to Blighty and find that everyone's wearing over-
          alls and breaking wind in the palaces of the mighty.

Edmund: Good point, sir.

Melchett: So the thing is, Blackadder, finding a man to organise a concert
          party is going t6o be damn difficult. So, I've come up with rather
          a cunning set of questions with which to test the candidate's
          suitability for the job.

Edmund: And what sort of questions would these be, sir?

Melchett: Well, the first question is, 'do you like Charlie Chaplin?'

Edmund: (looks at George) Dismissed, Lieutenant. (George salutes and leaves)
        'Do you like Charlie Chaplin?', yes that is a good question for a
        candidate, ah, to which my answer would of course be, 'yes, I love
        him, love him, sir, particularly the amusing kicks.

George: That's what I said because I thought you said....

Edmund: (abruptly) Goodbye George.

Melchett: And the second question is, 'do you like music hall?'

Edmund: Ah, yes, another good question, sir. Again, my answer would have to
        be 'yes, absolutely love it.' (mimiking) "Oops, Mr. Rothschild, (??)"

Melchett: Umm, yes. Well, it's in my view, Blackadder, that a person who
          would answer 'yes' to both questions would be ideal for the jo-
          (realises Edmund's early affirmative responses). Wait a minute.

Edmund: What sir?

Melchett: (laughs) Why, without knowing it, Blackadder, you've inadvertently
          shown me that you can do the job.

Edmund: Have I sir?

Melchett: Yes sir! You have, sir. And I want you to start work straight away.
          A couple of shows over the weekend and if all goes well, we'll start
          you off in London next Monday.

Edmund: Oh...damn.

Melchett: If you need any help fixing and carrying and backstage and so on,
          I'll lend you my driver if you like. (calls out) Bob?!

(a woman enters....the driver Bob)

Bob: (militaristically) Driver Parker reporting for duty, sir!

Melchett: Alright, at ease, Bob, stand easy. Captain Blackadder, this is Bob.

Edmund: Bob?

Bob: Good morning, sir.

Edmund: Unusual name for a girl?

Melchett: Oh yes, it would be an unusual name for a girl, but it's a perfectly
          straightforward name for a young chap like you, eh Bob? Now Bob, I
          want you to bunk up with Captain Blackadder for a couple of days, al-
          right?

Bob: Yes sir.

Melchett: I think you'll find Bob just the man for this job, Blackadder. He has
          a splendid sense of humour.

Edmund: He sir? He? He?

Melchett: You see, you're laughing already! Well then, Bob, I'll leave you two
          together, why don't you get to know each other, play a game of crim-
          mage, have a smoke, something like that. They tell me that Captain
          Blackadder has rather a good line in rough shag. Um, I'm sure he'd
          be happy to fill your pipe. Carry on. (exits)

Edmund: So you're a 'chap', are you Bob?

Bob: Oh yes, sir. (laughs)

Edmund: You wouldn't say you were a girl at all?

Bob: Oh, definitely not, sir. I understand cricket, I fart in bed, everything.

Edmund: 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: Oh sir, please don't give me away, sir. I just wanted to be like my bro-
        thers and join up. I want to see how a real war is fought....so badly.

Edmund: Well, you've come to the right place, Bob. A war hasn't been fought
        *this* badly since Olaf the Hairy, Chief of all the Vikings, accidently
        ordered 80,000 battle helmets with the horns on the *inside*.

Bob: I want to do my bit for the boys, sir.

Edmund: Oh really?

Bob: I'll do anything, sir!

Edmund: Yes, now keep that to yourself, if I was you.

(Edmund and Bob go over repetoire for concert hall show)

Edmund: Alright Bob, the second half start with Corporal Smith and Johnson as
        the Three Silly Twerps.

Bob: Alright, sir.

Edmund: The big joke being that there's only two of them.

Baldrick: (laughing) I know that, it always cracks me up, sir.

Edmund: Followed by Baldrick's impersonation of Charlie Chaplin. Bob, take a
        telegram.

Bob: Yes sir.

Edmund: Mr. C. Chaplin, Sennett Studios, Hollywood, California. (???) stop.
        Have discovered only person in the world less funny than you stop.
        Name Baldrick stop. yours, E. Blackadder stop.' Oh, and put a PS.
        'Please please please stop.' Now after that, we have, ladies and
        gentlemen, the highlight of our show.

Baldrick: Ta-da...

(enter George in drag)

George: I feel fantastic!

Edmund: Gorgeous Georgina, the traditional soldier's drag act.

Baldrick: You look absolutely lovely, sir.

Edmund: Well Baldrick, you are lined (?), blind, or mad. The Lieutenant looks
        as all soldiers look on these occasions, about as feminine as W. G.
        Grace. What are you going to give them, George?

George: Well, I thought one or two cheeky gags, one followed by 'She was only
        the ironmonger's daughter but she knew a surprising amount about fish
        as well'.

Edmund: (sarcatic) Inspired. Well, at least you made an effort with the dress,
        what is your costume, Baldrick?

Baldrick: I'm in it, sir.

Edmund: I see. So your Charlie Chaplin costume consists of only that hat.

Baldrick: Except that in this box, I've a dead slug as a brillaint false
          moustache.

Edmund: Yes, it's only quite brilliant, I fear. How, for instance, are you
        to attach it to your face?

Baldrick: Well, I was hoping to persuade the slug to cling on, sir.

Edmund: Baldrick, the slug is dead. If it failed to cling on to life, I see
        no reason that it should cling on to your upper lip.

George: Baldrick, Baldrick come on. Slugs are always a problem. What you do
        is screw your face up like this you see and you can clamp it between
        your top lip and your nose.

Baldrick: (leaning backward) What? Like this, sir?

George: See, that's it, that's good. Sir, sir, there's a visitor to see you.

Edmund: (faking, but convincing) Good Lord, Mr. Chaplin! This is indeed an
        honour. Why, this calls for some sort of celebration. Baldrick, Bal-
        drick!

George: Sir, that is extraordinary, because, because this isn't Chaplin at all.
        This *is* Baldrick.

Baldrick: It is, it's *me*, sir!

Edmund: I know, I know. I was, in fact being sarcastic.

George: Oh, I see. Umm.

Edmund: Everything goes above your head, doesn't it, George? You should go to
        Jamaica and become a limbo dancer.

(at the concert....backstage, George is seen giving encores)

Bob: They love him, sir. We're a hit!

Edmund: Yes, in one short evening, I've become the most successful impresario
        since the manager of the Roman Coliseum thought of putting the Christ-
        ians and the lions on the same bill.

Baldrick: Sir, some people seem to think I was best! Do you agree?

Edmund: Baldrick, in the Amazonian rain forests, there are tribes of Indians
        yet untouched by civilisation who could develop more convincing Char-
        lie Chaplin impressionists.

Baldrick: Thank you very much, sir.

Bob: (refering to George aka Georgina): He's coming out.

George: What do you think, Bob, one more? God, I love attention! (goes off
        stage to join Edmund and company) It's in my blood and soul. Bal-
        drick, put this in some water, will you?

(Baldrick dunks the flowers into the vase upside-down)

George: I need that applause in the same way that a osler needs his osle.

Bob: Well done, sir!

George: (being modest) No, sir, I really, I was hopeless. I mean, tell me
        honestly, sir, I was, wasn't I?

Edmund: Well...

George: No, no, no, come on, sir. Out with it, cos I really need to know,
        I was hopeless.

Edmund: No....

George: You're trying to be nice and that's very sweet of you, but sir, please,
        I can take it. I was hoepless.

Edmund: George, you were bloody *awful*!

(George sobs.)

Edmund: But you can't argue with the box office. Personally, I thought you were
        the least convincing female impressionist since Tarzan went through
        Jane's handbag and ate her lipstick. But I'm clearly in the minority.
        Look out London, here we come!

(at Melchett's headquarters, 'HQ'. Capt. Darling sits at his desk)

Edmund: Ah, Captain Darling.

Darling: Ah, Captain Blackadder.

Edmund: I must say, I had an absolutely splendid evening. Oh, glad you
        enjoyed the show.

Darling: The show? I couldn't go to the show. Important regimental business.

Edmund: A lorry load of paper clips arrived?

Darling: Two lorry loads, actually.

Melchett: (enters) Ah, welcome to the great director, Miestrum.

Edmund: You enjoyed it, sir?

Melchett: Well, it was mostly awful, but I enjoyed the slug balance.

Edmund: Private Baldrick, sir.

Melchett: That's right, yes. The slug fell off a couple of times, but it
          was....you can't have everything, can't you? I just suggest a
          bit more practise and prehaps a sparkly costume for the slug.

Edmund: I'll pass that on, sir.

Melchett: But I do have certain others reasons for believing the show to be
          nothing but a triumph. Captain Darling has your travel arrangements,
          ticket to Dover, rooms at the Ritz and so forth.

Edmund: Oh, thank you sir.

Melchett: However, there is one small thing you can do for me.

Edmund: Yes?

Melchett: Captain Blackadder, I should esteem it a single honour if you would
          allow me to escort your leading lady to the regimental ball this
          evening.

Edmund: My leading lady?

Melchett: The fair Georgina.

Edmund: Ah, ha-ha, very amusing.

Melchett: You think she'll laugh in my face? I'm too old, too crusty?

Edmund: Uh, no, no. It's just as her director, I'm afraid I could not allow
        it.

Melchett: I can always find another director who *would* allow it!

Edmund: Quite. I'll see what I can do, but I must insist that she be home by
        midnight and that there'll be no hanky-panky, sir, whatsoever.

Melchett: I shall, of course, respect your wishes, Blackadder. However I don't
          think you need to be quite so protective. I'm sure she's a girl with
          a great deal of spunk than most women you can find.

Edmund: Oh, dear me.

(at the barracks)

George: Absolutely not, sir. It's profoundly immoral, and utterly wrong. I
        will not do it.

Edmund: We can always find another leading lady.

George: Well, the dress will need a clean.

Edmund: Excellent. Now the important thing is, that Melchett should, under no
        circumstances, realise that you are a man.

George: Yes, yes, I understand that.

Edmund: In order to insure this, there are three basic rules. One, you must
        never, I repeat, never remove your wig.

George: Right.

Edmund: Second, never say anything. Tell him at the beginning of the evening
        that you're saving your voice for the opening night in London.

George: Excellent, sir. And what's the third?

Edmund: The third is most important, don't get drunk and let him shag you on
        the veranda.

(in Melchett's private quarters. The general puts on an impressive bemedaled
red jacket. Darling is with him.)

Melchett: (after a few sounds of self-satisfaction) How do I look, Darling?

Darling: Girl-bait, sir. Pure bloody girl-bait.

Melchett: Moustache? Bushy enough?

Darling: Like a private hedge, sir.

Melchett: Good, because I want to catch a particularly beautiful creature in
          this bush tonight.

Darling: You'll have her coming out of your moustache for a week, sir.

Melchett: God, it's a spankingly beautiful world and tonight's my night. I
          know what I'll say to her. 'Darling...'

Darling: (mistaken that the general's addressing him) Yes sir?

Melchett: What?

Darling: Um, I don't know, sir.

Melchett: Well don't butt in! (exhales) 'I want to make you happy, darling'.

Darling: Well, 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? (continues) 'I want to make you happy, dar-
          ling. I want to build a nest for your ten tiny toes. I want to cover
          every inch of your gorgeous body in pether and sneeze all over you.'

Darling: I really think I must protest!

Melchett: What is the matter with you, Darling?

Darling: Well, it's all so sudden, I mean the nest bit's fine, but the pether
         business is definitely out!

Melchett: How dare you tell me how I may or may not treat my beloved Georgina?

Darling: Georgina?

Melchett: Yes, I'm working on what to say to her this evening.

Darling: Oh yes. Of course. Thank God.

Melchett: Alright?

Darling: Yes, I'm listening, sir.

Melchett: Honestly Darling, you really are the most graceless, dim-witted
          pumpkin I ever met.

Darling: I don't think you should say that to her.

(Melchett groans)

(at the barracks)

Edmund: Where's that George? It's three o'clock in the morning, he should be
        careful wandering the trench at night with nothing to protect his
        honour but a cricket box.

George (entering): Hello Captain.

Edmund: About time, where the hell have you been?

George: Well 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 world. Half
        whispered conversation with the promise of indisretion ever hanging
        in the air.

Edmund: No, that old stoke Melchett tried for a 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, mar-
        riage, proposed changes of the LBW rule.

Edmund: Melchett isn't married, is he?

George: No, no, all his life, he's been waiting to meet the perfect woman. And
        tonight, he did.

Edmund: 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, yes.

Edmund: George, are you trying to tell me that you're the General's perfect
        woman?

George: Well, yes, I rather think I am.

Edmund: Well thank God the horny old blighthead didn't ask you to marry him.

(George stares out to Edmund, affirming this fact in silence)

Edmund: He did?! Well how did you get out of that one?

George: Well, to be honest, sir, I'm not absolutely certain that I did.

Edmund: WHAT?!

George: You don't understand what it was like, sir. You know, the candles,
        the music, the huge moustache, I can't remember it. (?)

Edmund: You said 'yes'?

George: Oh, well he is a general, I didn't really feel I could refuse. He
        might have me court-martialed.

Edmund: Whereas on the other hand, of course, 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 blast turkey at the shop.

George: Yes, I, I, I know it's mess, ah but, you see, he got me scriffy and
        then when he looked into my eyes and said 'Chipmunk, I love you.'

Edmund: CHIPMUNK???

George: It's a special name for me, you see, he says my nose looks just like
        a chipmunk's.

Edmund: Oh God! We're in serious serious trouble here. If the General ever
        finds out that Gorgeous Georgina is, in fact, a strapping six footer
        from the rough end of the trench, which will precipitate the fastest
        execution since someone said, 'this Guy Fawlkes bloke, do we let him
        off, or wot?'

(phone rings, Edmund answers it)

Edmund: Hello? Yes sir. Straight away sir. (hangs up) That was your finacee,
        'Chipmunk'. He wants to see me. If I should die, think only this of
        me, 'I'll be back to get ya!'.

(at HQ again)

Edmund: Sir, I can explain everything.

Melchett: Can you, Blackadder? Can you?

Edmund: Well.....no sir, not really.

Melchett: I thought not, I thought not. Who can explain the mysteries of love?
          I'm in love with Georgina, Blackadder. I'm going to marry her on Sa-
          turday and I want you to be my best man.

Edmund: I don't think that would be a very good idea, sir.

Melchett: And why not?

Edmund: Because there's something wrong with your finacee, sir.

Melchett: Oh my God, she's not Welsh, is she?

Edmund: No sir. Um, it's a terrible story, but true. Just a few minutes ago
        Georgina arrived unexpectedly in my trench. She was literally dancing
        with joy as if something wonderful had happened to her.

Melchett: Makes sense.

Edmund: Unfortunately, she was in such a daze, danced straight throught the
        trench and out into No Man's Land. I tried to stop her, but before
        I could say, 'Don't tread on a mine', she trod on a mine.

(Melchett starts to sob)

Edmund: When I say 'a mine', it was a cluster of mines, and she was blown to
        smitereens, rocketed up into the air, said something I couldn't quite
        catch, totally incomprehensible to me, something like, 'Tell him, his
        little chipmunk will love him forever'.

(Melchett howls in sadness)

Darling: It's heartnreaking, sir.

Edmund: I'm sorry sir.

Melchett: (recovering) Oh well, can't be helped, can't be helped.

Darling: Jolly bad luck, sir. Of course, on top of everything else, without
          your leading lady, you won't be able to put on your show. So no
          show, no London Palladium.

Edmund: On the contrary, I'm simply intending to rename it, the Georgina
        Melchett Memorial Show.

Melchett: Oh no, Georgina was the only thing that made the show come alive.
          Apart from her, it was all awful!

Darling: Awful!

Melchett: You'll never find a girl like Georgina by tommorrow.

Edmund: Well, it's funny you should say that sir, because I think I already
        have.

Melchett: Who is she?

Darling: Who is she?

(back at the barracks)

George: (as his 'normal' male self) So, come on, sir, who is she?

Edmund: Well, that's the problem. I haven't a bloody clue! The only exacting
        woman around here is carved out of stone called 'Venus' and is stan-
        ding in a fountain in the town square with water coming out of her
        armpits.

George: So we're a bit stuck.

Bob: (passing through) Morning chaps.

Edmund and George: Morning Bob.

Edmund: You can say that again, George. We're in a stickier situation since
        Sticky the Stick Insect got stuck on a sticky bun. We are in trouble.

(enter Baldrick in drag)

Baldrick: No anymore sir. May I present my cunning plan.

Edmund: 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.

Edmund: Our plan is to find a new leading lady for our show. What is your plan?

Baldrick: My plan is that I will marry General Melchett. I am the other woman.

George: Well, congradulations Baldrick. I hope you will be very happy.

Baldrick: I will, sir, cos when I get back from honeymoon, I will be a member
          of the aristocracy and you will have to call me 'M'lady'.

Edmund: What happened to your Revolutionary principles, Baldrick? I thought
        you hated the aristocracy.

Baldrick: I'm working to bring down the system from within, sir. I'm a sort
          of a Frozen Horse.

Edmund: *Trojan House*, Baldrick.

Baldrick: Anmyway, I can't see what's so stupid about marry into wealth for
          money and not having to sleep in a puddle.

Edmund: Baldrick, NO! It's the worst plan since Abraham Lincoln said, 'Oh I'm
        sick of kicking around the house tonight. Let's take in a show.' And
        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.. Anyway we are looking for a great entertainer
        and you're the worst entertainer since St. Paul the Evangelist toured
        Palestine with his trampoline act. Nah, we have to find somebody else.

George: What about Corporal Cartwright, sir?

Edmund: Corporal Cartwright looks like an orangatang. I've heard of the Bearded
        Lady, but the All Over Body Hair Lady simply just isn't on.

George: Willis?

Edmund: Too short.

George: Petheridge?

Edmund: Too old.

George: Taplowe?

Edmund: Too dead. Ah, this is hopeless. There just isn't anyone!

(Bob is heard singing)

Bob: 'Goodbyeee, goodbyeee, wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eyeee'.

Edmund: What am I doing? (calls out) Bob!

Bob: (naked but for a towel): Sir?

George: What a brilliant idea! Bob, can you think of anyone who can be our
        leading lady?

(at another concert performance)

George: What do you think, Bob, one more?

Bob: No George, always leave them hungry.

Edmund: Congradulations, Bob. I must admit, I thought you were bloody mar-
        vellous.

Bob: Thank you sir. Permission to slip into something more uncomfortable, sir.

Edmund: Permission granted.

Baldrick: Oh sir, it's going to be wonderful. Not just for me, but for my little
          partner, Graham. Doing our tour halfway 'round the world.

Edmund: Yes, from Shaftsbury Avenue to the Co^te du Jour, they'll be saying,
        'I like the little black one, but who's that burkey sitting on it?'

Baldrick: I'm not with you, sir.

Edmund: No, of course not. But don't worry, we'll have years in luxury hotels
        for me to explain. Now get packing, get packing. The Burtrain (?)
        leaves at six and we're going to be on it.

Darling: (entering) Blackadder.

Edmund: Ah Darling, everything alright?

Darling: Oh yes.

Edmund: Got the tickets?

Darling: Oh yes.

Melchett: (calling, enters) Blackadder!?

Edmund: Oh hi, General. Enjoy the show?

Melchett: Don't be ridiculous, the worst evening I've ever spent in my life!
          (paces forward toward Edmund)

Edmund: (pacing backward) I'm sorry?

Melchett: (yells) Will you stand still when I'm talking to you! If by a man's
          works showing (??) that you were a steaming pile of horse manure.

Edmund: But surely, sir, the show was a trimuph.

Melchett: (yells real loud) TRIMUPH? The Three Twerps were one Twerp short,
          again; the Slug Balancer seems now to be doing some feeble impres-
          sion of Buster Keaton; and worst of all, the crowning turd in the
          waterpipe, that revolting drag act in the end.

Edmund: Drag?

Melchett: Yes, poor Bob Parker's been made to look a total ass! With that reedy
          voice and that stupid effeminate dancing.

Darling: So the show's cancelled, permenantly. (rips up plane tickets)

Edmund: But what about the men's morale, sir, with the Russians out of the war
        and everything?

Melchett: Oh for goodness sake, Blackadder, have you been living in a cave?
          The Amercians joined the war yesterday.

Edmund: So how is that going to improve the men's morale, sir?

Melchett: OOooooohhh, because you jibbering imbecile, they've brought with
          them the largest collection of Charlie Chaplin films in existence.
          I've lost patience with you. Fill him in, Darling. (exits)

Darling: We received a telegram this morning from Mr. Chaplin himself, at
         Sennett Studios: (reads) 'Twice nightly screening of my films in
         trenches, excellent idea stop. But must insist E. Blackadder be
         projectionist. Oh PS, don't let him ever stop.'

Edmund: Oh great.

Darling: No hard feelings, Blackadder.

Edmund: Not at all Darling. Uh, care for a licoriche assortment(?)?

Darling: (accepts it....which turns out to be Baldrick's dead slug) Well,
         thank you. (eats it)

                        *****FINIS****

Blackadder IV, Episode 2 - Corporal Punishment

Black Adder IV, Episode 2

Corporal Punishment

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(in BA's quarters; Edmund is on the phone)

Edmund: You'd like to book a table for three by the window for 9.30 PM,
        not too near the band, in the name of Obel-ointment Fungentula.
        Yes, yes, I think you might have the wrong number. Alright.
        (hangs up; enter George)

George: Rather close line there, eh sir? That phone system is a shambles
        no wonder we haven't had any orders!

Edmund: Oh, on the contrary, George, we've had plenty of orders. We have
        orders for six meters of Hungarian crushed velvet curtain material,
        four rock salmon and a ha'pence of chips and a cab for a Mr. Redgrave
        picking up from 14 Arnost Grove Raintop Bell.

George: Rather we don't want those sort of orders, we want orders to Deck Old
        Glory. When are we going to give Fritz a taste of our British spunk?

Edmund: George, please. No one is more anxious to advance than I am, but until
        I get these communication problems sorted out, I'm afraid we're stuck.
        (phone rings) Captain Blackadder speaking.....no, I'm afraid the line's
        very cclllffffhhtttt!

Darling: Hello? Hello, Captain Blackadder, hello?

(a German accent pops up; really Edmund. He rustles paper, pretending the re-
 ception's lousy.)

Edmund: Schenll, schenll, Die Koppeltop, I said, there's a terrible line at my
        end. You are to advance on the enemy at once. (puts on a record)
        "A wandering minstral eye in the...(record goes off, Edmund speaks)
        ..on Gail Force Eight.

George: I say, come on, sir, what's the message? I'm on tenderhooks, do tell!

Edmund: Well, as far as I can tell, the message was, "he's got a terrible lion
        up his end, so there's an advantage to an enema at once."

George: Damn!

(enter Baldrick)

Baldrick: Message from HQ, sir.

George: Ah, now, this should be it. A telegram ordering an advance!

Edmund: Ummm yes, I'm afraid not, George, it is a telegram, it is ordering
        an advance, but it seems to be addressed to 'Catpain Blackudder'. Do
        you know a 'Catpain Blackudder', George?

George: Well, it rings a bell, but I..

Edmund: Ouhh.....nope, me neither. (throws message away)

George: Oh well.

Edmund: Go away George, I'm sure if they want to contact us, they'll find a
        way.

Baldrick: Speaking, sir, speaking, there's a pigeon in our trench!

George: Ah, now, this'll be it! (goes outside) Yes, it's one of the King's
        carrier pigeons.

(all go outside)

Baldrick: No, it isn't, that pigeon couldn't carry the King! Hasn't got a
          tray or anything.

Edmund: Hands, revolver please.

George: Oh now, sir, you really shouldn't do this you know!

Edmund: Come on George, with 50,000 men getting killed a week who's going to
        miss a pigeon?  (shoots the pigeon dead)

George: Well, not you, obviously, sir.

Edmund: In any case, its's scarcely a court martial offence. Get plucking,
        Baldrick.

Baldrick: Alright, sir. Look, it's got a little ring 'round it's leg, there's
          a novelity!

George: Oh really, is there a paper hat as well?

Baldrick: No, but there's a joke. Read it out, sir.

George: It's a bit charred. Something something at once..PS, due to communi-
        cation crisis, the shooting of carrier pigeons is now a court-martial
        offence. I don't see what's so funny about that, sir.

Edmund: That's not funny, it's deadly serious, we're in trouble. So, I shall
        eat the evidence for lunch and if anyone asks you any questions at all,
        we didn't receive any messages and we definitely did not shoot this
        plump breasted pigeon.

(at BA's quarters...Edmund just had the pigeon for lunch.)

Edmund: Umm..delicious.

(enter Melchett and Darling)

Melchett: Eahy, Blackadder!

Darling: Attention!

Melchett: And why, Captain, are you not advancing across No Man's Land?

Edmund: Well, sir, call me a bluffo traditionalist, but I was always taught to
        wait for the order to attack before attacking.

Melchett: Are you trying to tell me you haven't received any orders? What the
          hell are you playing at, Darling?
Darling: That's a flagrant lie, sir. I spoke to Blackadder less than an hour
         ago.

Edmund: Yes you did. To tell me some gobbledygook about having a lion up your
        bottom.

Melchett: Umm...I thought it's the old communications problem again. Stand easy.
          Action on this is imperative, take that down, Darling.

Darling: Yes.
          use it more often in conversation.

Darling: I must say sir, I find this all very unlikely. Not only did I tele-
         phone Blackadder, but as you'll recall, we sent him a telegram and
         a carrier pigeon.

Edmund: Did you?

Darling: Are you telling us you haven't had a pigeon, Blackadder?

Edmund: Ohaaahhh!
          Jim", my only true love who's been with me since I was a nipper!
          And to business, I'm giving you your order to advance now. Syncronise
          watches gentlemen. Private, what is the time?

Baldrick: We didn't receive any messages and Captain Blackadder definitely did
          not shoot the delicious plump breasted pigeon, sir.

Melchett: WHAT???????

Edmund: You want to be cremated, Baldrick or buried at sea?

Baldrick: (thinking it over) Umm....

Darling: Lieutenant?

George: Sir.

Darling: Do you mind answering a couple of questions?

George: Not at all, sir. We didn't get any messages and Blackadder definitely
        did not shoot this delicious plump breasted pigeon.

Edmund: Good.

Darling: And look sir, pigeon feathers. White feathers very apt, eh Blackadder?

Melchett: White feathers?

Baldrick: Oh no, sir, that's gobbleijuke! They're not white, they're sort of
          speckly!

Melchett: (shocked) Speckly?! AAHHHHHHHH! YOU SHOT MY SPECKLED JIM???

Darling: You're for it now, Blackadder. Quite frankly sir, I've suspected this
         for some time. Quite clearly, Captain Blackadder has been disobeying
         orders with a breathtaking impertinence.

Melchett: I don't care if he's been watering the Duke of York with a prize-
          winning leak!  He shot my pigeon! (screams) AAAHH  AHHHH OOOHHHH!

Darling: Take it easy. I think we should do this by the book, sir.

Melchett: Yes, yes, you're right, of course. I'm sorry. Attention!

Darling: (drums are heard in the background) Captain Blackadder, as of this
         moment you may consider yourself under arrest. You know what the
         penalty is for disobeying orders, Blackadder?

Edmund: Umm..court-martial, followed by immediate cessation of chocolate
        rations?

Darling: No, court-martial followed by immediate death by firing squad.

Edmund: Oh, so I got it half right.

(at the cell)

Perkins: (Edmund's guard) Sadder than a happy hour then, sir? Wave all our
         last goodbyes.

Edmund: Oh, no need for that, Perkins, I'll just dash off a couple of notes,
        one asking for a sponge bag, and the other sending for my lawyer.

Perkins: Oh, your lawyer now, yes sir.  Don't you think that might be a bit
         of a waste of money, sir.

Edmund: Not when he's the finest mind in English legal history.  Ever heard
        of Bob Mattingburg?

Perkins: Oh, yes indeed, sir!  A most gifted gentleman!

Edmund: I remember Mattingburg's most famous case, the case of the bloody knife.
        A man was found next to a murdured body, he had the knife in his hand,
        thirteen witnesses that seen him stab the victim, when the police
        arrived he said, "I'm glad I killed the bastard."  Mattingburg not
        only got him off, but he got him knighted in the New Year's Honors
        list, and the relatives of the victim had to pay to have the blood
        washed out of his jacket.

Perkins: There is a job under the prosecution involved, sir.

Edmund: Yes, well, look at Oscar Wilde.

Perkins: Oh, butch, Oscar.

Edmund: A big, bearded, bonking, butch Oscar.  The terror of the ladies.  114
        illegitamate children, world heavyweight boxing champion, and author
        of the best-selling phamplet, "Why I Like To Do It With Girls".
        Mattingburg had him sent down for being a whoopsie. (enter Baldrick)
        Ah, Baldrick. Anything from Mattingburg yet?

Baldrick: Yes, sir.  It just arrived, sir.

Edmund: What is it?

Baldrick: Sponge bag, sir.

Edmund: A sponge bag.

Edmund: Baldrick, I gave you two notes.  You sent the note asking for a sponge
        bag to the finest mind in English legal history.

Baldrick: Certianly did, sir!

Edmund: And you sent the note requesting legal representation to...

(enter George)

George: Well, tally-ho, with a bing and a bong and a buzz-buzz-buzz! (THUMP!)

Edmund: (digustingly, as we've all heard before) Oh God!

George: I'll tell you, apart from all, sir, that I am deeply, deeply honored.

Edmund: Baldrick, I'll deal you later.  Am I to understand that you are going to
        represnt me at the court-martial?

George: Absolutly, sir.  Well, it's a sort of family tradition, really.  My
        uncle's a lawyer, you know.

Edmund: Your uncle's a lawyer, but you're not.

George: Oh, good lord, no.  I'm absolute duffer at this sort of thing.  In
        school the basing society, I was voted the boy least likley to complete
        a coherent...um...an oops...yes, anyway, my dear old friend, its an
        honor to serve.

Edmund: George, I'm in trouble here. I need to construct thats 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, becarse I was planning on playing the
        mindless optimisim card very strongly.

Edmund: I beg your pardon?

George: Yes, I've already planned my closing address based on that very thing.
        Oh, go on, let him off, your honor, please!  It's a lovely day.  Pretty
        clouds, trees, birds, etc.  I rest my case.

Edmund: So, council, with that summing up in mind, what do you think my chances
        are?

George: Well, not all that good I'm afraid, as far as I can tell you're as
        guilty as a puppy sitting next to a pile of poo.

Edmund: Ah.

(in the court room; Edmund's trial is taking place)

George: (walking in) Crikey! So sorry I'm late, my luv.

A voice: 'allo.

George: But anyway, let me open up my defence straight away, by saying that
        I've known this man for three years, he's an absolutely gawking chap.

Edmund: George?

George: Yes, sir?

Edmund: That's the clerk of the court.

George: Is it? Oh!

Edmund: We haven't started yet.

(enter Darling)

Darling: Good luck, Blackadder.

Edmund: Well, thank you,  Darling.  And what's your big job here today?
        Straightening chairs?

Darling: No, in fact I'm appearing for the prosecution.  I wouldn't raise your
         hopes too much, you're guilty as hell, you haven't got a chance.

Edmund: Why thank you,  Darling.  And I hope your mother dies in a freak
        yachting accident.

Darling: Just doing my job, Blackadder.

Edmund: Obeying orders, and of course, having enormous fun into the bargain.
        I wouldn't be too confident if I were you, any reasonably impartial
        judge is bound to let me off.

Darling: Well, absolutely.

Edmund: Who is the judge, by the way?

Melchett: (boldly) Me!

Edmund: I'm dead.

Melchett: Well, come on, then.  Come on.  Get this over in five minutes, and
          then we can have a spot of lunch. (some noise from the others) The
          court is now in session, General Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmenay Melchett
          in the chair.  The case before us is that of the crown vs. Captain
          Edmund Blackadder, the flanderous pigeon murderer!  Oh, uh hand me
          the black cap, I'll be needing that.

Edmund: 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 privete prosecution against the defence council
         for wasting the court's time.

Melchett: Granted.  Council, he is fined fifty pounds for turning up.  This is
          fun!  This is just like a real court!  Alright!  Let the trial begin!
          The chagre before us is that the flanderous pigeon murderer did de-
          liberately, callously, and with beastliness of forethought murder a
          lovely, innocent pigeon.  And disobeyed some orders as well.
          Is this true?

George: Perfectly true, sir. I was there.

Edmund: Thanks George.

George: Oh, dammit.

Melchett: Right.  Council for the defence, get on with it.

George: Oh, right, yes, right.  Um, yes.  I'd like to call my first witness
        Captain Darling.

Melchett: You wish to call the council for the prosecution as a defence
          witness?

George: That's right. (aside) Don't worry, sir, I've got it all under control.
        You are Captain Darling of the general staff?

Darling: I am.

George: Captain, leaving aside the incident in question, would you think of
        Captain Blackadder as the sort of man that would usually ignore orders?

Darling: Yes, I would.

George:  Ah, um.  You sure?  I was rather banking on you saying no.

Darling: I'm sure.  In fact, I have a list of other orders he's disobeyed,
         if it would be useful.  November 16th, 9:15am, 10:23am, 10:24am,
         11:17am...

George: You missed one out, there.

Darling: ...10:30am, 11:46am...

Edmund: George!

George: What?  Oh, oh ye-ye-right, yes.  Thank you, Captain.  No further
        questions.

Edmund: Well done, George.  You really had him on the ropes.

George: Don't worry, old man.  I have a last and I think you'll find decisive
        witness.  Call Private Baldrick.

Edmund: (to Baldrick) Deny everything, Baldrick.

George: Are you Private Baldrick?

Baldrick: NO!

George: Um, but you are Captain Balckadder's batman?

Baldrick: NO!

George: Come on, Baldrick.  Be a bit more helpful, it's me!

Baldrick: No it isn't!

Darling: Sir, I must protest!

Melchett: Quite right!  We don't need your kind here, Private.  Get out.
          Sum up, please.

George: Oh, right, yes, uhhhh, oh.....Uh, gentlemen, you have heard all the
        evidence presented here today, but in the end it is up to the
        conscience of your hearts to decide, and I firmly belive, that like
        me, you will conclude that Captain Blackadder is in fact, totally
        and utterly, GUILTY......of nothing more than trying to do his duty
        under difficult circumstances.

Melchett: Nonsence!  He's a hound and a rutter, and he's going to be shot!
          However, before we proceed to the formality of sentancing the
          deceased,  I mean the defendant, (laughs) I think we'd all rather
          enjoy the case of the prosecution.  Captain Darling, if you please.

Darling: Sir, my case is very simple. I call my first witness, General Sir
         Anthony Cecil Hogmaney Melchett.

Melchett: Ah..umm! (goes up to the stand)

George: Clever, clever.

Darling: General, did you own a lovely, plump, speckily pigeon called Speckled
         Jim, which you hand reared  from a chick and which was your only
         childhood friend?

Melchett: (hysterical) Yes! (calmer) Yes, I did.

Darling: And did Captain Blackadder shoot the aforementioned pigeon?

Melchett: Yes, he did!

Darling: (shouts) Can you see Captain Blackadder anywhere in this courtroom?

Melchett: (overwrought, pointing his finger at Edmund) YES, THAT'S HIM!!!
          THAT'S THE MAN!!!!! AAHHHHH AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Darling: No more questions, sir.

Melchett: Very good, excellent, first class. Carry on. I therefore have ab-
          solutely no hesitation in announcing that the sentence of this
          court is: that you Captain Edmund Blackadder be taken from this
          place and shot to death by shooting tommorrow at dawn. (bangs
          gavel). Do you have anything to say?

Edmund: Yes, can I have an alarm call, please?

(at the cell)

Perkins: Someone to see the Captain?

Edmund: What does he look like?

Perkins: Short, ugly...

Edmund: Hello Baldrick.

Baldrick: I brought you some food, sir, for your final breakfast tommorrow.

Edmund: Ah, so you're not pinning much hope on a last minute reprieve then.

Baldrick: No sir, you are as dead as some doo-doos.

Edmund: The expression, Baldrick, is 'as a do-do'. 'Dead as a do-do'.

Perkins: Well, I'll leave you to it then, shall I? (leaves)

Baldrick: Do not despair, sir. All my talk of food was jsut a dead herring.
          In fact, I have a cunning plan. This is not food, but an escape
          kit.

Edmund: Good Lord! 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....

Edmund: Let's see, what have we here? A small painted wooden duck.

Baldrick: Yeah, I thought if you get caught near water, you can balance
          it on the top of your head as a brillaint disguise.

Edmund: Yeeeesss, I would, of course, have to escape first. Ah, but what's
        this, unless I'm much mistaken, a hammer and a chisel?

Baldrick: You *are* much mistaken!

Edmund: A pencil and a miniature trumpet.

Baldrick: Yes, a pencil so you can drop me a postcard to tell me how the break
          out went and a small little tiny miniature trumpet in case during
          your escape, you have to win favour with a difficult child.

Edmund: Baldrick, I don't want to spend my last precious hours rummaging
        through this feeble collection of stocking-fillers. Now let me ask
        you some simple questions: is there are a saw in this bag?

Baldrick: No.

Edmund: A hammer?

Baldrick: No.

Edmund: A chisel?

Baldrick: No.

Edmund: A gun?

Baldrick: No.

Edmund: A false passport?

Baldrick: (thinks) No.

Edmund: A change of clothes?

Baldrick: Yes sir, of course I wouldn't forget a change of clothes.

Edmund: Ah, now that's something, let's see.....a Robin Hood costume.

Baldrick: I put in a French peasant's outfit first, but then I thought
          'What if you arrive in a French peasant's village and they're
          in the middle of a fancy dress party?'

Edmund: And what if I arrive in a French peasant village, dressed in a
        Robin Hood costume and there *isn't* a fancy dress party?

Baldrick: Well, to be quite frank sir, I didn't consider that eventuality,
          because if you did, you'd stick out like a.....

Edmund: (interrupting) Like a man standing in a lake with a small painted
        wooden duck on his head?

Baldrick: Exactly!

(re-enter Perkins)

Perkins: Excuse me, sir.

Edmund: Alright. Aaahhmm, thank you, Baldrick, we'll finish this picnic
        later.

Baldrick: (rather loudly) YUM YUM! (exits)

Perkins: Do you mind if I disturb you for a moment, sir?

Edmund: No, no, not at all.  My diary's pretty empty this week.  Let's see,
        Thursday morning, get shot, yes, that's about it, actually.

Perkins: It's just there's a few chaps out here would like a bit of a chinwag.

Edmund: Oh, loveley.  Always keen to meet new poeple.

Perkins: Corpral Jones and Privates Spacer, Robinson, and Tipperwick

All: Hello

Edmund: Oh, nice of you to drop by.  And what do you do?

Leader: We're your firing squad, sir.

Edmund: Of course you are.

Squad man 2: Good sized chest.

Leader: Shut up, lad.

Squad man 2: Sir!

Leader: You see, us firing squads are a bit like taxmen, sir, everyone hates
        us, but we're just doin' our job,  'aven't we, sir?

Edmund: My heart bleeds for you.

Leader: Well, sir, we aim to please.  Just a little firing squad joke there,
        sir!  You see, sir, we take pride in the termanatory service we
        supply.  So, is there any particular area you'd like us to go for, hmm?
        We can aim anywhere.

Edmund: Well, in that case, just above my head might be a good spot.

Leader: You see, a laugh and a smile, and all of a sudden the job doesn't seem
        quite so bad after all, does it sir?

Squad man 2: No, and a lovely roomy forehead.

Squad man 3: A good pulse and jugular, there as well.

Edmund: Look, I'm sorry, I know you mean to be friendly, but I hope you won't
        take it amiss if I ask you to sod off and die.

Leader: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, fair enough, 'course not, sir.  No one
        likes being shot first thing in the morning, do they?  No, no, no,
        So, look foreward to seeing you tomorow, sir.  You'll have a blindfold
        on of course, but you'll recognize me.  I'm the one that says, "Ready,
        aim, fire!"

Edmund: Can I ask you to leave a pause between the word "aim" and the word
        "fire"?  Thirty or forty years, perhaps?

Leader: Ahh, wish I could pause, sir.  I really wish I could, but I can't, you
        see, cos I'm a tabler, you see.

(lots of inaudible lines, sorry)

(Firing Squad leaves)

Edmund: Perfect! I wonder if anything on earth could depress me more?

(enter Baldrick)

Baldrick: Excuse me, sir?

Edmund: Of course it could.

Baldrick: I forgot to give you this letter from Lieutenant George, sir.

Edmund: (sarcastically) Ahh! Oh, joy! What wise words from the world's
        greatest defence counsel. (reads letter) 'Dear Mother,'......un-
        usual start, (continues) 'thanks for the case of Scotch.' You've
        excelled yourself, Baldrick. You've brought the worng letter again!

Baldrick: Ohh yeah, he did write two.

Edmund: Yes, his mother's about to get a note, telling her he's sorry she's
        going to be shot in the morning.....while *I* have to read this
        drivel. (reads further) 'Count Celia thrives in the Pony Club trials
        and that little Freddy scores a century for the first eleven'. (aside)
        You can't deny, it's a riveting read...uhhh, 'Send my love to Uncle
        Rupert', (aside) who'd have thought it, Mad Uncle Rupert, Minister of
        War. Power of life or death over every bally soldier in the army.
        Hang on a minute.....this is it! All George has to do is send him a
        telegram and he'll get me off. (in a pleasant tone) Baldrick, I love
        you! I want to kiss your cherry lips and nibble your shell-like ears.
        I'm freeeee!

(at BA's quarters, George is moping)

George: I'm useless, useless!

Baldrick: Sir, sir!

George: Hello Private, how's the Captain?

Baldrick: He's absolutely fine, sir, but..

George: uhh, you're just trying to cheer me up. I know the truth. He hates
        me cos I completely arsed up his defence.

Baldrick: Yes, I know, sir, but..

George: I'm thick, you see. I'm as thick as the big-print version of The Com-
        plete Works of Charles Dickens. If only I could've saved him. If only!

Baldrick: But you *can*, sir.

George: What, how?

Baldrick: You send a telegram.

George: Of course! I send a telegram.

Baldrick: Yeah!

George: Who to?

Baldrick: To the person in the letter.

George: What letter?

Baldrick: To your mother.

George: I send a telegram to my mother?!

Baldrick: No!

George: No!

Baldrick: You send a telegram to the person in the letter to your mother.

George: Who was in the letter to my mother?

Baldrick: I can't remember!

George: Well, think, think!

Baldrick: No, you think think!

George: Well, I ahh...Stay here, of course, the Pony Club Trials. Yes! See
        here, they can leap over the walls over the prison and save him.

Baldrick: No, no!

George: No, no, ahhhmm. Yes, cricket. Yes, I've got Cousin Freddie, of
        course. He can knock out the firing squad with his cricket bat.

Baldrick: No, there's someone else!

George: (excited) Oh well, who!?

Baldrick: I don't know.

George: Well, neither do I!

Baldrick: Well, think!

George: You think!

Baldrick: You think that!

(both continue arguement, then....)

George: No, it hasn't helped.

Baldrick: Yes it has, sir. Your Uncle Rupert who's just been made Minister
          of War.

George: Of course. Uncle Rupert shall be made Minister of War. Baldrick,
        I'll, I'll send him a telegram and he'll, he'll pull strings and
        scratch backs and fiddle with nobs, and....

Baldrick: HURRAY!

George: Well, I got there in the end, eh Baldrick?

Baldrick: Oh, just about, sir.

George: Ah, I think this calls for a celebration, don't you? What about a
        toss of old Morehen's Shredded Sporum, which Mum has just sent over?
        I drink a toast, don't you, to Captain Blackadder and freedom!

Baldrick: Captain Blackadder and Freedom, sir.

(outside, where Edmund is to be executed; Dawn, a cock crows)

Edmund: 'Morning.

Firing Squad (all): 'Morning.

Perkins: I must say, Captain, I've got to admire your balls.

Edmund: Prehaps later. (to Firing Squad) How are you doing?

All: Very well, good.

Edmund: Robinson, good to see you.

Robinson: Good to see you, too, sir.

Edmund: Ahh, Corporal, how's the voice?

Corporal (referred to as Leader in an earlier scene): Excellent, sir.

Edmund: So the phone's on the hook, is it Perkins?

Perkins: Oh yes, sir.

Edmund: So, where do you want me?

Corporal: Well, up against the wall is traditional, sir.

Edmund: Course it is. Ah...this side or the other side? (all laugh)
        No messengers waiting, Perkins?

Perkins: Oh, I'm afraid not, sir. Oh well.

Corporal: Alright, lads, line up.

Edmund: Yes, uahh...now look, I think there might have been a bit of a mis-
        understanding, you see. I was expecting a telegram.

Corporal: ATTENTION!

Edmund: Quite an imporant one, actually.

Corporal: TAKE AIM!

A voice: Stop!

Edmund: I think that's what they call 'the nick of time'.

Voice: Letter for the Captain.

Edmund: Of course it is. Read it please.

Voice: Eh, 'here's looking at you. Love from all the boys in the firing squad.'

Corporal: You soft bastards, you!

Squad Man 2: After all we've got, I couldn't resist it.

Edmund: (sarcastically) How thoughtful!

Corporal: ATTENTION!

Edmund: Now look, ah, something has gone spectacularly badly wrong.

Corporal: TAKE AIM!

Edmund: Baldrick, you're mincemeat!

(at BA's quarters)

George: (awaking) Oh, my head! Ah, my head! Feels like the time I was initiated
        into teh Silly Buggers society at Cambridge. I misheard the rules and
        push a whole oberjing into my earhole.

Baldrick: Permission to die, sir.

George: Oh! Bu-bu-bu-what started this drinking? Oh, yes, well,we were cele-
        brating getting Captain Blackadder off scot...(realises it's too late)
        free. Oh my sainted trousers, we forgot!

Baldrick: Oh whoops.

George: Oh no. He's dead, you see. He's dead dead dead because we're a pair of
        selfish so and so's....(despairingly) oh, course, if I have a rope, I'd
        put it around my neck and bally well hanged myself until it really hurt.

(Edmund walks in)

Edmund: Hi, George, 'morning, Baldrick. Still the striking resemblence to guppie
        fish at feeding time. Yep, it arrived in the nick of time.

George: Oh, excellent!

Edmund: Ah, so you've got the Scotch out, haven't we?

George: Oh, well, well, of course, sir, yes. We wanted to lay on a bit of a
        bash for your safe return, ah..here you go. (gives Edmund a drink,
        laughs)

Edmund: There was a second telegram that arrived actually George, addressed
        personally to you by your Uncle.

George: Oh, thank you, I....(tries to get letter from Edmund, who opens and
        reads it)

Edmund: (reads) 'George, my boy, Outraged to read in dispatches how that ass
        Melchett made such a pig-ear out of your chum Blackadder's court-mar-
        tial. Have reversed the decision forthwith. Surprised you didn't ask
        me to do it yourself, actually.' Now this is interesting, isn't it?

George: Uh, uhh, yes, well, I, you see, sir. Uh..the thing is..

Edmund: You two got whammed last night, didn't you?

George: We--well, well, no, uh, uh. not whammed exactly. A little tiddly,
        perhaps.

Edmund: And you forgot the telegram to your Uncle!

George: Well, n--n--n-no. Not, not, not completely. Partially, umm....Well
        yes, yes. Entirely.

Baldrick: I think I can explain, sir.

Edmund: Can you, Baldrick?

Baldrick: (pause) No.

Edmund: As I suspected. Now, I'm not a religious man, as you know. Henceforth,
        I shall nightly pray to the God, who killed Cain and squashed Sampson,
        that He comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the
        pair of you!

(phone rings; Edmund answers it)

Edmund: Captain Blackadder. Ah, Captain Darling. Well, you know, some of us
        just have friends in high places, I suppose. Yes, I can hear you per-
        fectly. You want what? You want two volunteers for a mission into No
        Man's Land, Code name: Operation Certain Death. yes, yes I think I
        have just the fellows. (hangs up; to George and Baldrick) God is
        *very* quick these days.

                        ***FINIS***

Blackadder IV, Episode 1 - Captain Cook

Black Adder IV, Episode 1

Captain Cook

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

[The dugout. Blackadder is sitting in a chair reading a book. A record is
playing softly. Scratching noises are heard.]

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 a cunning plan actually.

Blackadder:     Of course it is.

Baldrick:       You see, you know they say that somewhere there's a bullet
                with your name on it?

Blackadder:     Yes?

Baldrick:       Well, I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it,
                I'd never get hit by it, 'cos I won't ever shoot myself.

Blackadder:     Oh, shame.

Baldrick:       And, the chances of there being two bullets with my name
                on them are very small indeed.

Blackadder:     That'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 inside to cover a small water-biscuit.

                [George enters.]

George:         Tally-ho pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle.

Blackadder:     In English we say, "Good Morning".

George:         Look what I got for you sir.

Blackadder:     What?

George:         It's the latest issue of "King & Country". Oh, damn
                inspiring stuff; the magazine that tells the Tommies the
                truth about the war.

Blackadder:     Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows
                of fidelity were included in the French marriage service.
                [flicks through paper]

George:         Come, come, sir, now. You can't deny that this fine
                newspaper is good for the morale of the men.

Blackadder:     Certainly not, I just think that more could be achieved by
                giving them some real toilet-paper. [hands paper back to
                George]

George:         Not with you at all sir, what could any patriotic chap
                have against this magnificent mag?

Blackadder:     Apart from his bottom?

George:         Yes.

Blackadder:     Well look at it. [takes the paper again] I mean the
                stuff's about as convincing as Dr. Crippen's defence
                lawyer. The British Tommies are all portrayed as six foot
                six with biceps the size of Bournemouth.

George:         Thoroughly inspiring stuff. And look sir, this also
                arrived for you this morning. [hands paper bag to
                Blackadder]

Blackadder:     [opening bag, taking out a revolver] Hmm, do you know what
                this is, Lieutenant?

George:         It's a good old service revolver.

Blackadder:     Wrong. It's a brand new service revolver, which I've
                suspiciously been sent without asking for it. I smell
                something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of
                Baldrick's apple crumble.

George:         That's funny sir, because we didn't order those new
                trench-climbing ladders either.

Blackadder:     New ladders?

George:         Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they
                were absolutely thrilled. [calls to Baldrick] Isn't that
                right men?

Baldrick:       [from the doorway] Yes sir, first solid fuel we've had
                since we burned the cat.

Blackadder:     Something's going on, and I think I can make an educated
                guess what it is. Something which you, George, would find
                hard to do. [they go outside into the trench]

George:         Ah, true, true. Where I was at school, education could go
                hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school
                song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without
                blubbing.

Blackadder:     I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with
                a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the
                school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the
                kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me. My
                instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to
                go over the top. [peers over the top of the trench with a
                periscope]

George:         Great Scott sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally
                arrived for us to give Harry Hun a darned good British
                style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?

Blackadder:     If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes.
                Clearly, Field Marshal Haig is about to make yet another
                gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches
                closer to Berlin.

George:         Right! Bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start eh, up and
                over to glory, last one in Berlin's a rotten egg.

Blackadder:     Give me your helmet, lieutenant.

                [George hands his helmet to Blackadder, who throws it up
                into the sky. Immediately heavy machine-gun fire is heard.
                He catches the helmet, which now has over 20 holes in it,
                and gives it back to George.]

George:         Yes, some sort of clever hat-camouflage might be in order.

Baldrick:       Permission to speak sir.

Blackadder:     Granted, with a due sense of exhaustion and dread.

Baldrick:       I have a cunning plan to get us out of getting killed sir.

Blackadder:     Ah yes, what is it?

Baldrick:       Cooking.

Blackadder:     I see. [enters the dugout again]

Baldrick:       You know staff HQ is always on the lookout for good cooks?
                Well, we go over there, we cook 'em something, and get out
                of the trenches that way.

Blackadder:     Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.

Baldrick:       Is it?

Blackadder:     Yes, it's superb.

Baldrick:       [delighted] Permission to write home immediately sir, this
                is the first brilliant plan a Baldrick's ever had! For
                centuries we've tried, and they've always turned out to be
                total pig-swill. My mother will be as pleased as Punch.

Blackadder:     Hm-hm, if only she were as good-looking as Punch,
                Baldrick. There is however one slight flaw in the plan.

Baldrick:       Oh?

Blackadder:     You're the worst cook in the entire world.

Baldrick:       Oh yeah, that's right.

Blackadder:     There are amoeba on Saturn who can boil a better egg than
                you. Your Filet Mignon in sauce Bernaise look like
                dog-turds in glue.

Baldrick:       That's because they are.

Blackadder:     Your plum-duff tastes like it's a molehill decorated with
                rabbit-droppings.

Baldrick:       I thought you wouldn't notice.

Blackadder:     Your cream custard has the texture of cat's vomit.

Baldrick:       Again it's.....

Blackadder:     If you were to serve one of your meals in staff HQ you'd
                be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning since Lucretia
                Borgia invited 500 of her close friends around for a
                wine-and-anthrax party. No, we'll have to think of a
                better plan than that.

Baldrick:       Right, how about a nice meal, while you chew it over?

Blackadder:     [suspicious] What's on the menu?

Baldrick:       Rat. [shows him a big black rat] Saute or fricassee.

Blackadder:     [peers at the rat] Oh, the agony of choice. Saute
                involves...?

Baldrick:       Well, you take the freshly shaved rat, and you marinade it
                in a puddle for a while.

Blackadder:     Hmm, for how long?

Baldrick:       Until it's drowned. Then you stretch it out under a hot
                light bulb, then you get within dashing distance of the
                latrine, and then you scoff it right down.

Blackadder:     So that's sauteing, and fricasseeing?

Baldrick:       Exactly the same, just a slightly bigger rat.

Blackadder:     Well, call me Old Mr. Un-adventurous but I think I'll give
                it a miss this once.

                [George enters, wearing a new hat decorated with
                barbed-wire.]

Baldrick:       Fair enough sir, more for the rest of us.
                [to George] Eh sir?

George:         Absolutely, Private. Tally-ho BARF BARF.

                [The telephone rings, Blackadder picks it up.]

Blackadder:     Hello, the Savoy Grill. Oh, it's you..... yes..... yes,
                I'll be over in 40 minutes.

Baldrick:       Who was it then sir?

Blackadder:     Strangely enough Baldrick, it was Pope Gregory IX,
                inviting me for drinks aboard his steam-yacht "The Saucy
                Sue", currently wintering in Montego Bay with the England
                Cricket team and the Balinese goddess of plenty.

Baldrick:       Really?

Blackadder:     No, not really. I'm ordered to HQ. No doubt that idiot
                General Melchett is about to offer me some attractive new
                opportunities to have my brains blown out for Britain.

                              ---------------

[At staff HQ. Darling is at his desk writing; Blackadder enters.]

Blackadder:     What do you want, Darling?

Darling:        It's Captain Darling to you. General Melchett wants to see
                you about a highly important secret mission.

Melchett:       [enters] What's going on, Darling?

Darling:        Captain Blackadder to see you sir.

Melchett:       Ah, excellent. Just a short back and sides today I think,
                please.

Darling:        Er, that's Corporal Black, sir. Captain Blackadder is here
                about the other matter sir, the [lowers his voice] secret
                matter.

Melchett:       Ah, yes, the special mission. At ease Blackadder. Now,
                what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret,
                is that clear?

Blackadder:     It is sir.

Melchett:       Now, I've compiled a list of those with security
                clearance, have you got it Darling?

Darling:        Yes sir.

Melchett:       Read it please.

Darling:        It's top security sir, I think that's all the Captain
                needs to know.

Melchett:       Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!

Darling:        Very well sir. "List of personnel cleared for mission
                Gainsborough, as dictated by General C. H. Melchett: You
                and me, Darling, obviously. Field Marshal Haig, Field
                Marshal Haig's wife, all Field Marshal Haig's wife's
                friends, their families, their families' servants, their
                families' servants' tennis partners, and some chap I
                bumped into the mess the other day called Bernard."

Melchett:       So, it's maximum security, is that clear?

Blackadder:     Quite so sir, only myself and the rest of the English
                speaking world is to know.

Melchett:       Good man. Now, Field Marshal Haig has formulated a
                brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the
                field. [they gather around a model of the battlefield]

Blackadder:     Now, would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of
                our trenches and walking slowly towards the enemy sir?

Darling:        How can 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:       E-E-Exactly! And that is what so brilliant about it! We
                will catch the watchful Hun totally off guard! Doing
                precisely what we have 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 the first ten
                seconds.

Melchett:       That's right! And Field Marshal Haig is worried that this
                may be depressing the men a tadge. So, he's looking to
                find a way to cheer them up.

Blackadder:     Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the obvious
                solution.

Melchett:       Interesting thought. Make a note of it, Darling! Take a
                look at this: "King & Country".

Blackadder:     Ah, yes, without question my favourite magazine; soft,
                strong and thoroughly absorbent.

Melchett:       Top-hole Blackadder, I thought it would be right up your
                alley. Now, Field Marshal Haig's plan is this; to
                commission a man to do an especially stirring painting for
                the cover of the next issue, so as to really inspire the
                men for the final push. What I want you to do, Blackadder,
                is to labour night and day to find a first rate artist
                from amongst your men.

Blackadder:     Impossible sir. I know from long experience that my men
                have all the artistic talent of a cluster of colourblind
                hedgehogs... in a bag.

Melchett:       Hm, well that's a bit of a blow. We needed a man to leave
                the trenches immediately.

Blackadder:     Leave the trenches?

Melchett:       Yes.

Blackadder:     Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed, as I have sir, that
                marvellous painting in the National Portrait Gallery, "Bag
                Interior", by the colourblind hedgehog workshop of Sienna.

Darling:        I'm sorry, are you saying you can find this man?

Blackadder:     I think I can. And might I suggest sir that having left
                the trenches, it might be a good idea to post our man to
                Paris [points on Melchett's map], in order to soak up a
                little of the artistic atmosphere. Perhaps even Tahiti
                [points], so as to produce a real masterpiece.

Melchett:       Yes, yes, but can you find the man?!

Blackadder:     Now I know I can sir. Before you say "Sunflowers" I'll
                have Vincent van Gogh standing before you.

                              ---------------

[Back in the trenches. Blackadder is painting, George is looking over his
shoulder.]

George:         No, don't stop sir. It's coming, it's definitely coming.
                I, hm, yeah, ah, er, hm. I just wonder if two socks and a
                hand-grenade is really the sort of thing that covers of
                "King & Country" are made of.

Blackadder:     They will be when I painted them being shoved up the
                Kaiser's backside.

                [George walks over to Baldrick.]

George:         Ah, now, now this is interesting.

Blackadder:     What is?

George:         Well, Private Baldrick is obviously some kind of an
                impressionist.

Blackadder:     The only impression he can do is of a man with no talent.
                What's it called Baldrick? "The Vomiting Cavalier"?

George:         That's not supposed to be vomit; it's dabs of light.

Baldrick:       No, it's vomit.

George:         Yes, now er, why did you choose that?

Baldrick:       You told me to sir.

George:         Did I?

Baldrick:       Yeah, you told me to paint whatever comes from within, so
                I did my breakfast. Look, there's a little tomato.

Blackadder:     Hopeless. If only I'd paid attention in nursery art-class
                instead of spending my entire time manufacturing
                papier-mache willies to frighten Sarah Wallis.

George:         You know it's funny, but painting was the only thing I was
                ever any good at.

Blackadder:     Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.

George:         Well, as a matter of fact I did, actually. I mean [takes
                out pictures] I mean normally I hadn't thought I would
                show them to anyone, because they're just embarrassing
                daubs really, but you know, ah, they give me pleasure. I'm
                embarrassed to show them to you now as it happens, but
                there you go, for what they're worth. To be honest, I
                should have my hands cut off, I mean...

Blackadder:     George! These are brilliant! Why didn't you tell us about
                these before?

George:         Well you know, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.

Blackadder:     You might at least have told us you had a trumpet. These
                paintings could spell my way out of the trenches.

George:         Yours?

Blackadder:     That's right, ours. All you have to do is paint something
                heroic to appeal to the simple-minded Tommy. Over to you
                Baldrick.

Baldrick:       How about a noble Tommy, standing with a look of horror
                and disgust over the body of a murdered nun, what's been
                done over by a nasty old German.

George:         Excellent. I, I can see it now; "The Nun and the Hun".

Blackadder:     Brilliant! No time to lose. George, set up your easel,
                Baldrick and I will pose. This is going to be art's
                greatest moment since Mona Lisa sat down and told Leonardo
                da Vinci she was in a slightly odd mood. Baldrick, you lie
                down in the mud and be the nun.

Baldrick:       I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.

Blackadder:     Well, let's put it this way; either you lie down and get
                wet, or you're knocked down and get a broken nose.

Baldrick:       Actually it's not that wet, is it?

Blackadder:     No. [pushes Baldrick down, splat]

Baldrick:       Who are you going to be then sir? The noble Tommy?

Blackadder:     Precisely, standing over the body of the ravaged nun.

Baldrick:       I want a wimple.

Blackadder:     You should have gone before we started the picture.

Baldrick:       You know, the funny thing is, my father was a nun.

Blackadder:     [firmly] No he wasn't.

Baldrick:       He was so, sir. I know, 'cos whenever he was up in court,
                and the judge used to say "occupation", he'd say "nun".

                [George enters, dressed in painter's smock and hat,
                carrying a palette and easel.]

Blackadder:     Right. [to George] You're ready?

George:         Just about sir, yes. Erm, if you just like to pop your
                clothes on the stool.

Blackadder:     I'm sorry?

George:         Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.

Blackadder:     You mean, you want me... tackle out?

George:         Well, I would prefer so sir, yes.

Blackadder:     If I can remind you of the realities of battle George, one
                of the first things that everyone notices is that all the
                protagonists have got their clothes on. Neither we, nor
                the Hun, favour fighting our battles "au naturel".

George:         Sir, it's artistic licence. It's willing suspension of
                disbelief.

Blackadder:     Well, I'm not having anyone staring in disbelief at my
                willie suspension. Now, get on and paint the bloody thing,
                sharpish!

                              ---------------

[Later. The painting is ready.]

Blackadder:     Brilliant George, it's a masterpiece. The wimple suits you
                Baldrick.

Baldrick:       But it completely covers my face.

Blackadder:     Exactly. Now then, General Melchett will be here at any
                moment. When he arrives, leave the talking to me, all
                right? I like to keep an informal trench, as you know, but
                today you must only speak with my express permission, is
                that clear? [sharply] Is that clear?
                [With a note of regret] Permission to speak.

George:       \ Yes sir, absolutely.
Baldrick:     / Yes sir.

Darling:        [outside] Attention! [entering] Dugout, attention!

                [Melchett enters.]

Melchett:       Excellent, at ease. Now then Blackadder, where would you
                like me to sit? I thought just a simple trim of the
                moustache today, nothing drastic.

Darling:        We're here about the painting sir.

Melchett:       Oh, yes, of course. [seeing George] Good Lord, George,
                hahahaaa, how are you my boy? [nothing] I said how are
                you?

Blackadder:     Permission to speak.

George:         Absolutely top-hole sir, with a ying and a yang and a
                yippetty-doo.

Melchett:       Splendid! And your uncle Bertie sends his regards. I told
                him you could have a week off in April; we don't want you
                missing the Boat Race, do we?

Blackadder:     Permission to speak.

George:         Certainly not. Permission to sing boisterously sir?

Blackadder:     If you must.

George:         Row, row, row your boat,

Melchett:       [joins in] gently down the stream. Belts off, trousers
                down, isn't life a scream. HAI!

Blackadder:     Fabulous, university education, you can't beat it.

Melchett:       Bravo, now [moving on to Baldrick] what have we here?
                Name?

Blackadder:     Permission to speak.

Baldrick:       Baldrick, sir.

Melchett:       Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip, and zing zang spillip. Looking
                forward to bullying off for the final chukka?

Blackadder:     Permission to speak.

                [Silence.]

Blackadder:     Answer the General Baldrick.

Baldrick:       I can't answer him sir, I don't know what he's talking
                about.

Melchett:       Aah, are you looking forward to the big push? [pinches
                Baldrick's cheek]

Baldrick:       No sir, I'm absolutely terrified. [pinces Melcett's]

Melchett:       The healthy humour of the honest Tommy. Hahaaa, don't
                worry my boy, if you should falter, remember that Captain
                Darling and I are behind you.

Blackadder:     About thirty-five miles behind you.

Melchett:       Right, well stand by your beds. Let's have a look at this
                artist of yours, Blackadder. Next to me, Darling.

Darling:        Thank you sir. [sits down next to Melchett]

Melchett:       So, ah, have you found someone?

Blackadder:     Yes sir, I think I have; none other than young George
                here.

Melchett:       Oh, bravo. Well, let's have a shufti then.

Blackadder:     This is called "War". [shows his own painting]

Melchett:       Damn silly title George. Looks more like a couple of his
                socks and a stick of pineapple to me.

George:         Ah, permission to speak sir?!

Blackadder:     Er, I think not actually.

Melchett:       Quite right, if what happens when you open your mouth is
                anything like what happens when you open your paintbox,
                we'd all be drenched in phlegm. Oh no, this isn't what
                we're looking for at all, is it Darling?

Darling:        No sir.

Melchett:       No sir!

Blackadder:     There is this sir, it's Private Baldrick's, [shows
                painting] he's called it "My family and other animals".

Melchett:       Oh, good Lord no.

Blackadder:     Well, I'm afraid that's about it sir. Apart from ... this
                little thing. [show George's painting]

Melchett:       Ah, now, that's more like it!

Darling:        Who painted this Blackadder?

Blackadder:     Well actually it was me.

George:         Permission to speak, really quite urgently sir!

Melchett:       Damn and blast your goggly eyes! Will you stop
                interrupting, George! Now, this is excellent! [shakes
                Blackadder's hand] Congratulations man! It's totally
                inspiring, makes you want to jump over the top and yell
                "Yah-boo sucks to you, Fritsie".

Blackadder:     Thank you sir.

Darling:        Are you sure you did this, Blackadder?

Blackadder:     Of course I'm sure.

Darling:        I'm afraid I don't believe you.

Blackadder:     How dare you Darling!? [to Melchett] You know I can't let
                that slur pass, sir... What possible low, suspicious,
                slanderous reasons could this "office-boy" have to think
                that I didn't paint the picture?

Darling:        Well, three reasons as a matter of fact. Firstly: you're
                in it.

Blackadder:     It's a self-portrait.

Darling:        Secondly: you told us you couldn't paint.

Blackadder:     Well, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.

George:         Permission...

Blackadder:     Denied.

Darling:        And thirdly: it's signed "George".

Blackadder:     [walks over to painting, looks closely at corner] Well
                spotted. But not signed "George", dedicated "to George",
                King George. Gentlemen; The King!

All:            [snapping to attention] The King!

Baldrick:       Where?

Melchett:       Bravo Blackadder, I have absolutely no hesitation in
                appointing you our official regimental artist. You're a
                damn fine chap, not a pen-pushing, desk-sucking,
                blotter-jotter like Darling here, eh Darling?

Darling:        No sir.

Melchett:       No sir! Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.

Darling:        Attention!

                [Melchett and Darling exit.]

George:         Permission to jolly well speak right now sir, otherwise I
                might just burst like a bally balloon.

Blackadder:     Later George. Much later.

                              ---------------

[At Headquarters.]

Melchett:       Congratulations on your new appointment, Blackadder.

Blackadder:     Thank you sir.

Darling:        And may I say Blackadder, I'm particularly pleased about
                it.

Blackadder:     Are you.

Darling:        [smugly] Oh yes.

Melchett:       Now that you are our official war-artist, we can give you
                the full briefing. The fact is, Blackadder, that the "King
                & Country" cover story was just a... cover story. We want
                you, as our top painting bod, to leave the trenches...

Blackadder:     Good.

Melchett:       Tonight...

Blackadder:     Suits me.

Melchett:       And go out into no-man's-land.

Blackadder:     No-man's-land.

Melchett:       Yeeeeeees.

Blackadder:     Not Paris.

Melchett and Darling:
                Noooooooo.

Melchett:       We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the
                enemy positions.

Blackadder:     You want me to sit in no-man's-land, painting pictures of
                the Germans.

Melchett:       Precisely! Good man!

Blackadder:     Well, it's a very attractive proposition, gentlemen, but
                unfortunately not practical. You see, my medium is light.
                It'll be pitch dark; I won't be able to see a thing.

Melchett:       Ah, hm, that is a point. I tell you what: we'll send up a
                couple of flares. You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.

Blackadder:     Oh, excellent, excellent, glad I checked.

                              ---------------

[Blackadder, Baldrick and George crawling across no-man's-land.]

Blackadder:     All right, total and utter quiet, do you understand? So
                for instance if any of us crawl over any barbed wire they
                must on no account goaaAAAAAAAAAAHH!

Baldrick:       Have you just crawled over some barbed wire sir?

Blackadder:     No Baldrick, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream.

Baldrick:       Oh, that's all right then.

Blackadder:     Now, where the hell are we?

George:         Well, it's difficult to say, we appear to have crawled
                into an area marked with mushrooms.

Blackadder:     [patiently] What do those symbols denote?

George:         Pfff. That we're in a field of mushrooms?

Blackadder:     Lieutenant, that is a military map, it is unlikely to list
                interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll
                discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking.

George:         Good Lord, you're quite right sir, it says "mine". So,
                these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map.

Blackadder:     Either that, or we're in the middle of a mine-field.

Baldrick:       Oh dear.

George:         So, he owns the field as well?

                [Machine-guns fire.]

George:         [yelling] THEY'RE FIRING SIR, THEY'RE FIRING.

                [The guns stop.]

Blackadder:     Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant. If they hit me you'll be
                sure to point it out, won't you. Now come on, get on with
                your drawing and let's get out of here.

George:         Well, surely we ought to wait for the flare sir? You see,
                my medium is light.

Blackadder:     Just use your imagination for heavens sake. [thinks] Wait
                a minute, that's the answer. I can't believe I've been so
                stupid.

Baldrick:       Yeah, that is unusual, 'cos usually I'm the stupid one.

George:         Well, I'm not over-furnished in the brain department.

Blackadder:     Well, on this occasion I've been stupidest of all.

George:         Oh, now sir! I will not have that! Baldrick and I will
                always be more stupid than you. Isn't that right Baldrick?
                [standing up] Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Baldrick:       Yeah, [standing up also] stupidy, stupidy, stupidy.

                [Flares are fired, lighting up George and Baldrick.
                Blackadder cowers on the ground.]

George:         Stupidest stupids in the whole history of stupidityness.

                [Machine-gun fire; Baldrick and George jump down; the guns
                stop.]

Blackadder:     Finished? I think the obvious point is this: we'll go
                straight out to the dugout and do the painting from there.
                You do the most imaginative, most exciting possible drawing
                of German defences from your imagination.

George:         Oh I see, now that is a challenge.

Blackadder:     Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.

George:         Oh sir, just one thing. If we should happen to tread on a
                mine, what do we do?

Blackadder:     Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet
                into the air and scatter yourself over a wide area.

                              ---------------

[Back at Headquarters.]

Darling:        Are you sure this is what you saw Blackadder?

Blackadder:     Absolutely. I mean there may have been a few more armament
                factories, and [looks sideways at George] not quite as
                many elephants, but...

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.

Melchett:       Now, if we attack where the line is strongest, then Fritz
                will think that our reconnaissance is a total shambles.
                This will lull him into a sense of false security, and
                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?

Melchett:       So, best fighting trousers on, Blackadder!

George:         Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume
                sir?

Melchett:       Permission granted.

George:         [annoyingly loud volume] BRAVO!!!!!!!!!!

Melchett:       That's the spirit. Just your kind of caper eheh,
                Blackadder?

Blackadder:     Oh yes.

Darling:        Good luck against those elephants...

                [Blackadder and George salute and leave.]

                              ---------------

[In the dugout.]

Blackadder:     Get me a chisel and some marble Baldrick.

George:         Oh, you're taking up sculpture now sir?

Blackadder:     No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.

George:         What are you going to put on it?

Blackadder:     "Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he's bloody annoyed."

Baldrick:       Are we goin' over, are we sir?

Blackadder:     Yes, we are. Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.

Baldrick:       Would you like some "rat-au-van" to help you think? [shows
                Blackadder a tin plate with a very flat rat on it]

Blackadder:     "Rat-au-vin"?

Baldrick:       Yeah, it's rat that's been...

Blackadder:     [joins in] ..run over by a van. No thank you Baldrick.
                Although it gives me an idea. Telephone please.

                              ---------------

[Headquarters, later that night. Melchett and Darling are dining.]

Darling:        I suppose Blackadder and his boys will have gone over the
                top by now.

Melchett:       Yes. God, I wish I were out there with them, dodging the
                bullets, instead of having to sit here drinking this
                chateau Lafite, eating these Filets Mignon in sauce
                Bernaise.

Darling:        My thoughts exactly sir. Damn this Chateau Lafite.

Melchett:       He's a very brave man, Blackadder. And of course that
                Lieutenant of his, George, Cambridge man you know. His
                uncle Bertie and I used to break wind for our college.
                Slightly unusual taste, this sauce Bernaise...

Darling:        Yes sir, and to be quite frank, these mignon are a
                little... well...

Melchett:       What?

Darling:        Well, dungy.

Melchett:       What on earth's wrong with our cook?

Darling:        Well, it's a rather strange story sir.

Melchett:       Oh? Tell, tell.

Darling:        Well sir, I received a phonecall this afternoon from Pope
                Gregory IX, telling me that our cook had been selected for
                the England Cricket team and must set sail for the West
                Indies immediately.

Melchett:       Really?

Darling:        Then a moment later, the phone rang again. It was a trio of
                wandering Italian chefs, who happened to be in the area,
                offering their services. So I had the quartermaster take
                them on at once.

Melchett:       Ah, hm, Hm, HM , Ah, Oh, OH!! Jumping giblets! Are  you
                sure these are real raisins in this plum-duff?

Darling:        Oh yes, I'm sure they are sir. Everything will be alright,
                once the cream custard arrives.

                              ---------------

[Back in the dugout. Blackadder, George and Baldrick enter, wearing cooks'
aprons and huge black false moustaches. Baldrick is carrying a jug and a
small kitten.]

George:         Well all jolly good fun sir. But dash it all, we appear to
                have missed the big push.

Blackadder:     Oh damn, so we have. One thing puzzles me Baldrick; how did
                you manage to get so much custard out of such a small cat?

                              ---------------

                            B L A C K A D D E R
                             G O E S  F O R T H

                         Captain Edmund Blackadder
                              ROWAN ATKINSON

                            Private S. Baldrick
                               TONY ROBINSON

                         General Sir Anthony Cecil
                             Hogmanay Melchett
                                STEPHEN FRY

                         Lieutenant The Honourable
                       George Colhurst St. Barleigh
                                HUGH LAURIE

                           Captain Kevin Darling
                               TIM McINNERY

                                Title Music
                         Composed and Arranged by
                              HOWARD GOODALL

                                 Played by
                       The Band of the 3rd Battalion
                        The Royal Anglian Regiment
                             (The Pompadours)

                                Bandmaster
                             WOI TIM PARKINSON

                         P/BR.  647989  Libotte, J
                         Vis/E.  110143  Turner, R
                        Tech/Co. 364007  Massen, D
                          V/M  420372  Abbott, C
                        VTE.  614981  Wadsworth, C
                         Cm/S.  841842  Hoare, J
                         S/Svr.  733731  Deane, M
                         Dep/Svr.  713429  Way, N
                        L/Dr.  988212  Bristow, R
                        P/Mgr.  323476  Cooper, D
                       P/Att.  114209  Sharples, V
                         AFM  529614  Kennedy, J
                       C/Dgr.  368807  Hardinge, A
                        M/V Dgr.  82641  Noble, C
                          Dgr.  404371  Hull, C

                         Dir.  232418  Boden, R

                         Prod.  597602  Lloyd, J

                          (c) BBC TV MCMLXXXIX

Blackadder III, Episode 6 - Duel and Duality

Black Adder III, Episode 6

Duel and Duality

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

B:  Baldrick
E:  Edmund Blackadder
PR: Prince Regent George
MM: Mrs. Miggins
W:  The Duke of Wellington
MA: McAdder
S:  King's Servant
K:  King George III

The Palace Kitchens
-------------------

B:  Ooh! Mr. Blackadder.

E:  Leave me alone Baldrick. If I'd wanted to talk to a vegetable I'd
    have bought one at the market.

B:  Well don't you want this message?

E:  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.

B:  I'm wasted too. I've been thinking of bettering myself.

E:  Oh, really? How?

B:  I applied for the job of village idiot of Kensington.

E:  Oh. Get anywhere?

B:  I got down to the last two, but I failed the final interview.

E:  Oh, what went wrong?

B:  I turned up. The other bloke was such an idiot he forgot to.

E:  Yes, well 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 from my life to be
    played out weekly at half past nine by some great heroic actor of the
    age.

B:  Yeah, and I could be played by some tiny tit in a beard.

E:  Quite. Now, what's this message?

B:  I thought you didn't want it?

E:  Well I may do. It depends what it is.

B:  So you do want it?

E:  Well I don't know, do I? It depends what it is.

B:  Well, I can't tell you 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.

E:  Your name is of no importance and you live in the pipe in the
    upstairs water-closet. (looks at note) Oh God! Was the man who gave
    you this, by any chance, a red-headed lunatic with a kilt and a
    claymore?

B:  Yeah, and the funny thing was, he looked exactly like you.

E:  My mad cousin McAdder. The most dangerous man ever to wear a skirt
    in Europe.

B:  Yeah, he come in here playing the bag-pipes, then he made a haggis,
    sang Auld Lang Sayne and punched me in the face.

E:  Why?

B:  Because I called him a knock-kneed Scottish pillock.

E:  An unwise action, Baldrick, since Mad McAdder is a homicidal maniac.

B:  My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.

E:  Yes. If this is the same mother who confidently claimed that you
    were a tall handsome stallion of a man, I should treat her opinions
    with extreme caution.

B:  I love my mum.

E:  And I love chops and sauce but I don't seek their advice. I hate it
    when McAdder turns up. He's such a frog-eyed, beetle-browed
    basket-case.

B:  (in Blackadder's ear) He's the spitting image of you.

E:  No he's not. We're about as similar as two completely... dissimilar
    things in a pod. What's the old tartan throw-back banging on about
    this time? (reads) "Have come South for the rebellion." Oh God!
    Surprise, surprise... "Staying with Miggins. The time has come. Best
    sword and 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 last year's Mr Madman competition.

(The Prince's bell rings.)

E:  Ah! The walrus awakes.

The Prince's Bedroom
--------------------

PR: Ah Blackadder. Notice anything unusual?

E:  Yes sir, it's 11:30 in the morning and you're moving about. Is the
    bed on fire?

PR: Well, I wouldn't know, I've been out *all night*. Guess what I've
    been doing? Wraaarrhhhh...

E:  Beagling, sir?

PR: Better even than that. Sink me Blackadder if I, if I haven't just
    had the most wonderful evening of my life.

E:  Tell me all sir.

PR: Well as you know when I set out I looked divine. At the party as I
    passed all eyes turned.

E:  And I daresay quite a few stomachs.

PR: Well that's right. And then these two ravishing beauties came up to
    me and whispered in my ear.. that they loved me. (licks his lips)

E:  And what happened after you woke up?

PR: Oh, (falls onto bed) this was no dream Blackadder. Five minutes
    later I was in a coach flying through the London night bound for the
    ladies' home.

E:  And which home is this? A home for the elderly or a home for the
    mentally disadvantaged?

PR: Oh no no no no no. This was Apseley House. Do you know it?

E:  Yes sir. It is the seat of the Duke of Wellington. Those ladies I
    fancy would be his nieces.

PR: Ooh, so you fancy them too? Well, I don't blame you. Bravo. I spent
    a night of ecstasy with a pair of Wellingtons and I loved it.

E:  Sir, it may interest you to know that the Iron Duke has always let
    it be known that he will kill in cold blood anyone who takes sexual
    advantage of any of his relatives.

PR: Yes, but Big-nose Wellington is in Spain fighting the French, he'll
    never know.

E:  On the contrary sir. Wellington triumphed six months ago.

PR: I'm dead.

E:  It would seem so sir.

PR: I haven't got a prayer, have I Blackadder?

E:  Against Throat-slasher Wellington? The finest blade His Majesty
    commands? Not really no.

PR: Then I shall flee. How's your French Blackadder?

E:  Parfait monsieur. But I fear France will be not far enough.

PR: Well how's your Mongolian?

E:  Mmm, chang hatang motzo motzo. But I fear Wellington is a close
    personal friend of the chief Mongol. They were at Eton together.

PR: I'm doomed. Doomed as the dodo.

(There is a knock on the door.)

PR: Oh my God, he's here, Wellington's here already!

(Baldrick enters with a letter.)

PR: Oh, Your Grace, forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing. I was a
    mad, mad, sexually over-active fool.

E:  Sir, it's Baldrick. You're perfectly safe.

PR: Well, hurrah!

E:  (reads letter) Ah, until 6 o'clock tonight.

PR: Hurrooh.

E:  "From the Supreme Commander, Allied Forces Europe. Sir, Prince or
    pauper, when a man soils a Wellington he puts his foot in it. P.S:
    This is not a joke. I do not find my name remotely funny, and people
    who do end up dead. Close bracket. I challenge you to a duel tonight
    at 18 hundred hours in which you will die. Yours with sincere
    apologies for your impending violent slaughter, Arthur Wellesey, Duke
    of Wellington."

B:  Sounds a nice polite sort of bloke.

PR: (cries) Ahh ah ahhh haaa haaawww.

E:  Oh, don't worry sir, please. Just consider that life is a valley of
    woe filled with pain, misery, hunger and despair.

PR: Well not for me it bloody isn't! As far as I'm concerned life is a
    big palace full of food, drink, and comfy sofas.

B:  May I speak, sir?

E:  Certainly not Baldrick! The Prince is about to die. The last thing
    he wants to do in his final moments is exchange pleasantries with a
    certified plum-duff.

PR: Easy Blackadder, let's hear him out.

E:  Very well Baldrick. We shall hear you out, then throw you out.

B:  Well, Your Majesty, I have a cunning plan which could get you out of
    this problem.

E:  Don't listen to him sir. It's a cruel proletarian trick to raise
    your hopes. I shall have him shot the moment he's finished clearing
    away your breakfast.

PR: No wait Blackadder. Perhaps this disgusting degraded creature is
    some sort of blessing in disguise.

E:  Well if he is, it's a very good disguise.

PR: After all, did not our Lord send a lowly earthworm to comfort Moses
    in his torment?

E:  (firmly) No.

PR: Well, it's the sort of thing he might have done. Well, come on Mr.
    Spotty, speak.

B:  Well, Your Majesty, I just thought - this Welliton bloke's been in
    Europe for years. You don't know what he looks like. He don't know
    what you looks like. So why don't you get someone else to fight the
    duel instead of you?

PR: But I'm the Prince Regent! My portrait hangs on every wall!

E:  Answer that, Baldrick.

B:  Well my cousin Bert Baldrick, Mr Gainsborough's butler's dogsbody,
    says that he's heard that all portraits look the same these days,
    'cause they're painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true
    depiction of the idiosycratic facial qualities of the person in
    question.

E:  (impressed) Your cousin Bert obviously has a larger vocabulary than
    you do, Baldrick.

PR: No, now, he's right damn him. Anybody could fight the duel and
    Wellers would never know.

E:  All the same sir, Baldrick's plan does seem to hinge on finding
    someone willing to commit suicide on your behalf.

PR: Oh yes yes yes, but he would be fabulously rewarded. Money, titles,
    castles..

E:  A coffin, erm...

B:  That's right, I thought maybe Mr. Blackadder himself would fancy the
    job.

PR: What a splendid idea!

E:  Excuse me Your Highness. Trouble with the staff.

(Baldrick and Blackadder leave the room. Blackadder grabs Baldrick by the
lapels.)

E:  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 cattlegrid in an extremely heavy hat?

B:  Mr. Blackadder, you was only just saying in the kitchen how you
    wanted to rise again - now here the Prince is offering you the lot.

E:  But, tiny tiny brain, the Iron Duke will kill me. To even think
    about taking him on you'd have to be some kind of homicidal maniac who
    was fantastically good at fighting, like McAdder, like McAdder...
    (excited) Like McAdder could fight the duel for me!

(Blackadder re-enters the Prince's bedroom.)

E:  (calmly) My apologies sir. I was just having a word with my
    insurance people. Obviously I would be delighted to die on your
    behalf.

PR: God's toenails Blackadder, I'm most damnably grateful. You won't
    regret this you know.

E:  Well that's excellent. There's just one point though sir, re: the
    suicide policy. There's an unusual clause which states that the policy
    holder must wear a big red wig and affect a Scottish accent in the
    combat zone.

PR: Small print eh? Huh.

Mrs Miggins' Coffee Shop
------------------------

(Disarray. Flecks of porridge everywhere. Mrs. Miggins is sitting on a
table leaning back on the counter.)

E:  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 McAdder has presented his credentials?

MM: Oh yes indeed sir. You've just missed him.

E:  I trust he has been practising with his claymore.

MM: Oooooh, I should say so! I'm as weary as a dog with no legs that's
    just climbed Ben Nevis.

E:  A claymore is a sword, Mrs. Miggins.

MM: 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.

E:  Yes, exquisite.

MM: He bid me bite on a plank, there was a whirlwind of steel, and
    within a minute three men lay dead and I had a lovely new set of
    gnashers. (grins woodenly)

E:  Really. Just tell him to meet me here at 5 o'clock, will you? To
    discuss an extremely cunning plan. If all goes well by tomorrow the
    clan of McAdder will be marching back the high road back to glory.

MM: Ooh lovely. I'll do you a nice packed lunch.

The Prince's Quarters
---------------------

(Blackadder enters, looks for the Prince in the lounge and walks through
into the bedroom.)

E:  Good news, Your Majesty. This evening I will carve the Duke into an
    attractive piece of furniture with some excellent dental work. Your
    Highness? Your Highness!

(The bedroom door swings closed revealing the Prince hiding behind it,
his fingers in his ears.)

PR: Ooohh! Oh, thank God it's you Blackadder. I've had just word from
    Wellington, he's on his way here now.

E:  Ah, that's awkward. The Duke must believe from the very start that I
    am you.

PR: Hmm, well, hmm, any ideas?

E:  There's no alternative, we must swap clothes. (starts to take off
    his jacket)

PR: Oh fantastic, yes, dressing up. I love it. It's just like that
    story, ah, "The Prince And The Porpoise".

E:  "..and the Pauper" sir.

PR: Oh yes! Yes yes yes, "The Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper".

(They exchange clothes and wigs.)

PR: Excellent, excellent. Why, my own father wouldn't recognise me.

E:  Your own father never can. He's mad.

PR: Oh yes, yes.

(They walk through into the lounge.)

E:  Unfortunately, sir, you do realise that I shall have to treat you
    like a servant?

PR: Oh, I think I can cope with that, thank you, Blackadder.

E:  And you will have to get used to calling me "Your Highness", Your
    Highness.

PR: "Your Highness, Your Highness."

E:  No, just "Your Highness", Your Highness.

PR: That's what I said, "Your Highness, Your Highness", Your Highness,
    Your Highness.

E:  Yes, let's just leave that for now, shall we? Complicated stuff
    obviously.

(Baldrick enters.)

B:  Big Nose is here... But what?.. Who?.. Where?.. How?..

E:  Don't even try to work it out Baldrick. Two people you know well
    have exchanged coats and now you don't know which is which.

PR: I must say I'm pretty confused myself! Which one of us is
    Wellington?

E:  (exasperated) Wellington is the man at the door.

PR: Oh. And the porpoise?

E:  Hasn't arrived yet sir. We'll just have to fill in as best we can
    without it. Sir, if you would let the Duke in.

PR: Certainly, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

E:  And you'd better get out too, Baldrick.

B:  Yes, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

E:  Oh God! If only they had a brain cell between them.

(The Prince ushers in Wellington.)

PR: The Duke of Wellington!

W:  Have I the honour of addressing the Prince Regent, sir?

E:  You do.

W:  Hmm, congratulations, Highness, your bearing is far nobler than I'd
    been informed... (to the Prince) Take my hat at once, sir, unless you
    want to feel my boot in your throat! And be quicker about it than you
    were with the door.

PR: Yes, my lord.

W:  I'm a Duke not a Lord! (clouts the Prince) Where were you trained,
    the Dago dancing class? Shall I have my people thrash him for you,
    Highness?

(The Prince signals "No" from behind Wellington.)

E:  Errm.. No, he's very new. At the moment I'm sparing the rod.

W:  Ah! Fatal error. Give them an inch and before you know it they've
    got a foot, much more than that and you don't have a leg to stand on.
    Get out! (Clouts the Prince). Now sir, to business. I am informed that
    your royal father grows ever more eccentric and at present believes
    himself to be (reads) "a small village in Lincolnshire, commanding
    spectacular views of the Nene valley." I therefore pass on my full
    account of the war on to you, the Prince of Wales. (hands Blackadder a
    saddle-bag)

E:  Ah that's excellent. Thank you. (feels in bag, takes out a note) "We
    won, signed Wellington." Well, that seems to sum it up very well. Was
    there anything else?

W:  Two other trifling things Highness.. The men had a whip-round and
    got you this. Well, what I mean is I had the men roundly whipped until
    they got you this. It's a cigarillo case engraved with the regimental
    crest of two crossed dead Frenchmen, emblazoned on a mound of dead
    Frenchmen motif.

E:  Thank you very much. And the other trifling thing?

W:  Your impending death, Highness.

E:  Oh yes, of course, mind like a sieve.

W:  Mmm, I can not deny I'm looking forward to it. Britain has the
    finest trade, the finest armies, the finest navies in the world. And
    what do we have for royalty? A mad Kraut sausage sucker and a son who
    can't keep his own sausage to himself. The sooner you're dead the
    better.

E:  You're very kind.

W:  Now, you're no doubt anxious to catch up with the news of the war. I
    have here the most recent briefs from my general in the field...

E:  Yes, well if you would just like to pop them in the laundry basket
    on the way out. Tea?

W:  Yes, immediately.

(Blackadder rings the bell.)

W:  Now, let's turn to the second front, my lord. (unfolds a map on the
    table)

E:  Ah yes. (inspects map) Now, as I understand it Napoleon is in North
    Africa. And Nelson is stationed in...

W:  Alaska. In case Bony should try to trick us by coming via the North
    Pole.

E:  Yes... Perhaps a preferable stratagem, Your Grace, might be to harry
    him amid-ships as he leaves the Mediterranean. Trafalgar might be
    quite a good spot...

W:  Trafalgar? Well, I'll mention it to Nelson. I must say I'm beginning
    to regret the necessity of killing you, Your Highness. I'd been told
    by everybody that the Prince was a confounded moron.

E:  Oh, no no no no no.

(The Prince enters with the tea-tray.)

W:  Oh hell and buckshot! It's that tiresome servant of yours again.

PR: Ooh, budge up, budge up. (sits down next to Blackadder)

W:  How dare you, sir, sit in the presence of your betters! Get up!

PR: Oh yes, cripes. I forgot.

W:  You speak when you're spoken to. Unless you want to be flayed across
    a gun carriage. Well? (hits the Prince)

E:  Sir, sir, I fear you have been too long a soldier. We no longer
    treat servants that way in London society.

W:  Why, I hardly touched the man!

E:  Aah, I think you hit him very hard.

W:  Nonsense ,a hard hit would be like that! (hits the Prince, hard) I
    only hit him like that. (once more hits him)

E:  No sir, a soft hit would be like this. (hits the Prince) Whereas you
    hit him like this. (and again, hard)

PR: (gets back to his feet) Please, um, I wonder if I might be excused,
    Your Highness, Your Highness.

E:  Certainly. (Aside) I'm sorry about that, sir, but one has to keep up
    the pretence.

PR: No, no. I quite understand. You carry on the good work.

E:  Very well sir. (once more hits him)

W:  Hang on, this is bloody coffee! I ordered tea! (grabs the Prince by
    the ear and drags him back to the table) You really are a confounded
    fool. Aren't you? I'd heard everywhere that the Prince was an imbecile
    whereas his servant Blackadder was respected about town. Now that I
    discover the truth I'm inclined to beat you to death. TEA!! (kicks the
    Prince out of the door)

E:  Tell me, do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?

W:  NEVER! There's only one way to win a campaign: shout, shout and shout
    again.

E:  You don't think then that inspired leadership and tactical ability
    have anything to do with it?

W:  NO! It's all down to shouting. WAAGGHH!

E:  I hear that conditions in your army are appalling.

W:  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.

E:  Hmm, who knows, maybe I shall kill you.

W:  Dyaa. 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.

E:  Yes. One point, sir. I should, perhaps, warn you that while duelling
    I tend to put on my lucky wig and regimental accent.

W:  That won't help you. It would take a homicidal maniac in a claymore
    and a kilt to get the better of me!

E:  Well that's handy.

The Kitchens
------------

PR: I tell you Baldrick, I'm not leaving the kitchen until that man is
    out of the house.

(There is a knock on the door and the bell rings.)

B:  It's all right, Your Majesty, don't worry, I'll deal with this.

(The Prince hides behind the scullery door.)

MM: Ah hello Baldrick. I've brought your buns. Where's Mr. Blackadder?
    Oh, not upstairs still, running around after that port-swilling,
    tadpole-brained smelly-boots?

B:  (carefully) I don't know who you mean.

MM: Prince George, Baldrick. His boots smell so bad a man would need to
    have his nose amputated before taking them off. Well, that's what Mr.
    Blackadder says.

B:  As a joke.

MM: Didn't you write a little poem about him last week?

B:  No I didn't.

MM: Ooh you did:
        In the Winter it's cool,
        In the Summer it's hot,
        But all the year round,
        Prince George is a clot. (laughs)

B:  A lovely. I said Prince George is a lovely.

MM: Oh well. I'd better be off anyway. Tell Mr. Blackadder to expect
    Mr. McAdder at five o'clock. Just as soon as that fat Prussian truffle
    pig has got his snout wedged into a bucket of tea-cakes. (makes
    grunting noises)

B:  (calls after her) I think it must be next door you're wanting,
    strange woman who I've never seen before Mrs. Miggins.

PR: (sharply) Baldrick!

B:  Yes, Your Highness?

PR: Is it true? Did you really write a poem about how lovely I am?

B:  (fondly) Yes, and Mr. Blackadder loves you too. (smiles sweetly)

PR: Well I must say. I find that very touching. I do.

(The bell rings again.)

PR: I wish they wouldn't keep on doing that.

The Prince's Lounge
-------------------

W:  Well goodbye sir. And may the best man win. I.e. me.

PR: Your tea, sir.

W:  You're late! Where the hell have you been for it, India? (hits him)

E:  Or Ceylon? (also hits the Prince)

W:  Or China? (kicks the Prince, who falls down onto the coffee-table)
    And don't bother to show me the way out. I don't want to die of old
    age before I get to the front door.

Mrs. Miggins' Coffee Shop
-------------------------

(Blackadder enters, dressed in his normal clothes.)

E:  Ah! Miggins. So where's McAdder? I thought he was going to be here
    at five o'clock.

MM: Yes, I'm sorry. He's just popped out. You look ever so similar to
    each other you know, it's quite eerie.

E:  (annoyed) Look, did you tell him to be here or not?

MM: I did, you just keep missing each other. I can't imagine why.

MA: (enters) I'll tell you why. It's because there's no coffee shop in
    England big enough for two Blackadders.

E:  Ah! Good day, cousin McAdder. I trust you are well.

MA: Aye, well enough.

E:  And Morag?

MA: She bides fine.

E:  And how stands that mighty army, the clan McAdder?

MA: They're both well.

E:  I always thought that Jamie and Angus were such fine boys.

MA: Angus is a girl. So tell me cousin, I hear you have a cunning plan.

E:  I do, I do. I want you to take the place of the Prince Regent and
    kill the Duke of Wellington in a duel.

MA: Aye, and what's in it for me?

E:  Enough cash to buy the Outer Hebrides. What do you think?

MA: Fourteen shillings and six-pence? Well, it's tempting. But I've got
    an even 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 McAdder.

MM: And I shall wear the granite gown and limestone bodice of MacMiggins,
    Queen of all the herds.

E:  Look, for God's sake, McAdder, you're not Rob Roy. You're a top kipper
    salesman with a reputable firm of Aberdeen fishmongers. Don't throw it
    all away. If you kill the Prince they'll just send the bailiffs round
    and arrest you.

MA: Oh blast, I forgot the bailiffs.

E:  So we can return to the original plan then?

MA: No, I'm not interested. I'd rather go to bed with the Loch Lomond
    monster. And besides I have to be back in the office on Friday. I
    promised Mr. McNaulty I'd shift a particularly difficult bloater for
    him. Forget the whole thing. I'm off home with Miggsy.

MM: Yes, yes. Show me the glen where the kipper roams free. And forget
    Morag forever.

MA: No, never. Oh, I must do right by Morag. We must return to Scotland
    and you must fight in the old Highland way - bare breasted and each
    carrying an eight pound baby.

MM: Oh, yes, yes. I love babies. (kisses McAdder)

MA: You're a woman of spirit! I look forward to burying you in the old
    Highland manner. Farewell Blackadder, you spineless goon! (they leave)

E:  Oh God! Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.

The Prince's Lounge
-------------------

(Blackadder enters, dressed as the Prince.)

PR: Ah, Blackadder. It has been a wild afternoon full of strange omens.
    I dreamt that a large eagle circled the room three times and then got
    into bed with me and took all the blankets. And then I saw that it
    wasn't an eagle at all but a large black snake. Also Duncan's horses
    did turn and eat each other. As usual. Good portents for your duel, do
    you think?

E:  Not very good sir. I'm afraid the duel is off.

PR: OFF?

E:  As in "sod". I'm not doing it.

PR: By thunder, here's a pretty game. You will stay, sir, and do duty
    by your Prince. Or I shall...

E:  Or what? You port-brained twerp. I've looked after all my life. Even
    when we were babies I had to show which bit of your mother was serving
    the drinks.

PR: (kneels) Please please. You've got to help me. I don't want to die.
    I've got so much to give. I want more time.

E:  A poignant plea sir. Enough to melt the stoniest of hearts. But the
    answer, I'm afraid, must remain: "You're going to die, fat pig."

PR: Oh, wait, wait, wait. I'll give you everything.

E:  Everything?

PR: Everything.

E:  The money, the castles,the jewellery?

PR: Yes.

E:  The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of French
    lithographs?

PR: Everything.

E:  The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his
    trousers every half hour?

PR: Yes, yes, alright.

E:  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.

PR: Hurrah!

The Duel
--------

E:  Right Baldrick, now here's the plan. When he offers me the swords, I
    kick him in the nuts and you set fire to the building. In the
    confusion we claim a draw.

B:  Yes.

W:  Ah, Your Highness. Let's be about our business.

E:  Now don't forget Baldrick. You (motions the striking of a match)
    when I (raises knee).

W:  Come sir. Choose your stoker.

(Wellington holds out a case containing two pink, fluffy cannon stokers.)

E:  What, are we going to tickle each other to death?

W:  No sir. We fight with cannon.

E:  But I thought we were fighting with swords.

W:  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.

E:  Wait a minute, what the...

W:  Stand by cannon for loading procedure... Stoke. Muzzle. Wrench.
    (Carries on in this way while Blackadder is talking) Crank the storm
    barrel. Pull tee bar.

E:  "Congratulations on choosing the Armstrong Whitworth four-pounder
    cannonette. Please read the instructions carefully and it should give
    years of trouble free maiming."

W:  Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim...

E:  Look, wait a minute.

W:  FIRE!

(The cannon fires. Blackadder drops to the ground. Mournful music strikes
up.)

B:  Mr. B., Mr. B.! Sir, please help me get his coat off.

E:  Leave it Baldrick. It doesn't matter.

B:  Yes it does. Blood's hell to shift. I want to get it in to soak.

W:  You die like a man sir. In combat.

E:  You think so? Dammit, we must build a better world. When will the
    killing end?

W:  You don't think I too dream of peace? You don't think that I too
    yearn to end this damn dirty job we call soldiering?

E:  Frankly, no. My final wish on this Earth is that Baldrick be sold,
    to provide funds for a Blackadder foundation to promote peace, and to
    do research into the possibility of an automatic machine for cleaning
    shoes. And so I charge... (slumps back)

W:  His Highness is dead.

E:  (the music scratches to a halt) Actually, I'm not sure I am.
    Fortunately that cigarillo box you gave me was placed exactly at the
    point where the cannon-ball struck. (produces a very dented case). I
    always said smoking was good for you.

W:  Ah ha ha. Honour is satisfied. God clearly preserves you for
    greatness. His Highness is saved. Hurrah.

PR: (enters) Umm, no actually it's me, I'm His Highness. Well done
    Bladders, glad you made it.

W:  What in the name of Bonapartes balls is this fellow doing now?

PR: Ahh, no no, I really am His Highness. It was all just larks, and
    darn fine larks at that I thought.

W:  I have never, in all my campaigns, encountered such insolence! Your
    master survives an honourable duel and you cheek him like a French
    whoopsy! I can contain myself no longer! (draws his pistol and shoots
    the Prince)

PR: I die. I hope men will say of me that I did duty by my country.

E:  I think that's pretty unlikely sir. If I was you I'd try for
    something a bit more realistic.

PR: Like what?

E:  That you hope men will think of you.. as a bit of a thicky.

PR: All right, I'll hope that then. Toodle-oo everyone. Let you know
    and all that. (dies)

(Horns sound.)

S:  Here for His Majesty, The King of England.

K:  Someone told me my son was here. I wish him to marry this rose bush.
    I want to make the wedding arrangements.

E:  (thinking quickly) Here I am, Daddy. This is the Iron Duke,
    Wellington, commander of all your armed forces.

K:  Yes I recognised the enormous conk. Ha ha ha.

W:  He's a hero. A man of wit and discretion.

K:  Bravo. You know, my son, for the first time in my life I have a real
    fatherly feeling about you. People may say I'm stark raving mad and
    say the word Penguin after each sentence, but I believe that we two
    can make Britain Great - you as the Prince Regent and I as King
    Penguin.

E:  Well, let's hope eh? Wellington, will you come and dine with us at
    the palace? My family have a lot to thank you for.

W:  Dyahh, with great pleasure. Your father may be as mad as a balloon,
    but I think you have the makings of a great king.

K:  Ah, wunderbar er hoff seiht. Ja.

E:  Oh and Baldrick? Clear away that dead butler will you.

(The King, Blackadder and Wellington exit leaving Baldrick cradling the
Prince's head)

B:  (looks up) There's a new star in heaven tonight... A new freckle on
    the nose of the giant pixie.

PR: Erm! No, actually Baldrick, I'm not dead. You see I had a cigarillo
    box too, look. (rummages in his jacket) Oh damn, I must have left it
    on the dresser... (dies)

                                 For the
                        BENEFIT of SEVERAL VIEWERS
                         MR. CURTIS & MR. ELTON'S
                            Much admir'd Comedy
                           B L A C K   A D D E R
                             T h e   T H I R D
                                    OR
                              DUEL and DUALITY
             was performed with appropriate Scenery Dresses etc.
                                    by
                             EDMUND BLACKADDER,
                           butler to the Prince,
                            Mr. ROWAN ATKINSON
                   Baldrick, a dogsbody, Mr. TONY ROBINSON
              The Prince Regent, their master, Mr. HUGH LAURIE
                     Mrs. Miggins, a coffee shoppekeeper,
                          Miss. HELEN ATKINSON-WOOD
                  The Duke of Wellington, a famous soldier,
                               Mr. STEPHEN FRY
                       King George III, a Mad Monarch,
                             Mr. GERTAN KLAUBER

             MUSIC (never perform'd before), Mr. HOWARD GOODALL

                 designer of graphics, Mr. GRAHAM McCALLUM
                    buyer of properties, Miss. JUDY FARR
            supervisor of production operatives, Mr. ALLAN FLOOD
               designer of visual effects, Mr. STUART MURDOCH
                 designer of costumes, Miss. ANNIE HARDINGE
                  designer of make-up, Miss. VICKY POCOCK
                     mixer of vision, Miss. SUE COLLINS
                    supervisor of cameras, Mr. RON GREEN
                  editor of videotape, Mr. CHRIS WADSWORTH
                   director of lighting, Mr. RON BRISTOW
             co-ordinator of technicalities, Mr. RICHARD WILSON
                  supervisor of sound, Mr. PETER BARVILLE
               assistant to production, Miss. NIKKI COCKCROFT
               assistant manager of floors, Mr. DUNCAN COOPER
                  manager of production, Miss. OLIVIA HILL
                      the designer, Mr. ANTONY THORPE
                    the director, Miss. MANDIE FLETCHER

                          the producer, Mr. LLOYD

                To conclude with Rule Britannia in full chorus
                             NO MONEY RETURN'D
                            (C) BBC  MCMLXXXVII