Blackadder III, Episode 2 - Ink and Incapability

Black Adder III, Episode 2

Ink and Incapability

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


E: Edmund Blackadder
B: Baldrick
G: Prince Regent George
M: Mrs. Miggins
J: Dr. Samuel Johnson
By: Lord George Gordon Byron
C: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
S: Percy Bysshe Shelley

(In reality, only one of those last three was alive at the same time as
Johnson: Coleridge was about 12 years old when Johnson died. The others
hadn't been born yet. I'm not sure of the exact years of the Prince Regent.)

(The words in the gobbledygook scene here are best guesses. Nearly all of
them have been looked up in dictionaries -- or at least the parts of them
have. Anyone with a closed-caption decoder who can help with the words,
though, please do.)


In Prince's House (in bedchamber)

G: (wakes, shouts) Oh, oh, oh, Blackadder!  BLACKADDER!

E: (enters) Your Highness.

G: Wha--wha--what time is it?

E: Three o'clock in the afternoon, Your Highness.

G: Oh, thank God for that; I thought I'd overslept.

E: I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir...?

G: Well, no, actually. The most extraordinary thing happened. Last night,
   I was having a bit of a snack at the Naughty Hellfire Club, and some
   fellow said that I had the wit and sophistication of a donkey.

E: Oh, an absurd suggestion, sir.

G: You're right, it is absurd.

E: ...unless, of course, it was a particularly *stupid* donkey.

G: You see? If only *I'd* thought of saying that...

E: Well, it is so often the way, sir, too late one thinks of what
   one *should* have said. Sir Thomas More, for instance -- burned alive
   for refusing to recant his Catholicism -- must have been kicking him-
   self, as the flames licked higher, that it never occurred to him
   to say, "I recant my Catholicism."

G: Well, yes, you see, only the other day, Prime Minister Pitt called
   me an "idle scrounger," and it wasn't until ages later that I thought
   how clever it would've been to have said, "Oh, bugger off, you old fart!"
   I need to improve my mind, Blackadder. I want people to say, "That George,
   why, he's as clever as a stick in a bucket of pig swill."

E: And how do you suggest this miracle is to be achieved, Your Highness?

G: Easy: I shall become best friends with the cleverest man in England.
   That renowned brainbox, Dr. Samuel Johnson, has asked me to be patron
   of his new book, and I intend to accept.

E: Would this be the long-awaited Dictionary, sir?

G: Oh, who cares about the title as long as there's plenty of juicy murders
   in it. I hear it's a masterpiece.

E: No, sir, it is not. It's the most pointless book since "How To Learn
   French" was translated into French.  (moves into living area)

G: (follows) You haven't got anything personal against Johnson, have you
   Blackadder?

E: Good Lord, sir, not at all. In fact, I had never heard of him until
   you mentioned him just now.

G: But you do think he's a genius...?

E: No, sir, I do not. Unless, of course, the definition of `genius' in his
   ridiculous Dictionary is "a fat dullard or wobblebottom; a pompous ass with
   sweatly dewflaps." (presumably a mispronunciation of `dewlaps')

G: Oh, close shave there, then. Lucky you warned me. I was about to embrace
   this unholy arse to the royal bosom.

E: I'm delighted to have been instrumental of keeping your bosom free of
   arses, sir.

G: Bravo -- don't want to waste my valuable time with wobblebottoms.
   Er, fetch some tea, will you, Blackadder?

E: Certainly, sir.

G: Oh, and make it two cups, will you? That splendid brainbox, Dr. Johnson, is
   coming round.


In Baldrick/Blackadder's Quarters

E: (makes noise of disgust)

B: Something wrong, Mr. B?

E: Oh, something's always wrong, Balders. (dumps all bottles and glasses
   from the drinks tray he is carrying into a barrel, where they all break)
   The fact that I'm not a millionaire aristocrat with the sexual capacity
   of a rutting rhino is a constant niggle. But, today, something's even
   wronger. That globulous fraud, Dr. Johnson, is coming to tea.

B: I thought he was the cleverest man in England.

E: Baldrick, I'd bump into cleverer people at a lodge meeting of the Guild of
   Village Idiots.

B: That's not what you said when you sent him your navel.

E: *Novel*, Baldrick -- not navel. I sent him my novel.

B: Well, novel or navel, it sounds a bit like a bag of grapefruits to me.

E: The phrase, Baldrick, is "a case of sour grapes," and yes it bloody well
   is. I mean, he might at least have written back, but no, nothing, not even
   a "Dear Gertrude Perkins: Thank you for your book. Get stuffed.
   --Samuel Johnson."

B: Gertrude Perkins?

E: Yes, I gave myself a female pseudonym. Everybody's doing it these days:
   Mrs. Ratcliffe, Jane Austen--

B: What, Jane Austen's a man?

E: Of course -- a huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush.

B: Oh, quite a small one, then?

E: Well, compared to Dorothy Wordsworth's, certainly. James Boswell is the
   only real woman writing at the moment, and that's just because she
   wants to get inside Johnson's britches.

B: Perhaps your book really isn't any good.

E: Oh, codswallop! It's taken me seven years, and it's perfect. "Edmund:
   A Butler's Tale" -- a giant rollercoaster of a novel in four hundred
   sizzling chapters. A searing indictment of domestic servitude in the
   eighteenth century, with some hot gypsies thrown in. My magnum opus,
   Baldrick. Everybody has one novel in them, and this is mine.

B: And this is mine (takes a small piece of paper from the front of his
   trousers). My magnificent octopus.

E: (takes it) This is your novel, Baldrick? (unfolds it)

B: Yeah -- I can't stand long books.

E: (reads) "Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage
   called `Baldrick', and it lived happily ever after."

B: It's semi-autobiographical.

E: And it's completely utterly awful. Dr. Johnson will probably love it.

(a bell rings)

E: Oh, speak of the devil. Well, I'd better go and make the great Doctor
   comfortable. Let's just see how damned smart Dr. Fatty-Know-It-All
   really is. (goes up stairway) Oh, and prepare a fire for the Prince,
   will you, Baldrick?

B: What shall I use?

E: Oh, any old rubbish will do. Paper's quite good. Here, (crumples up
   Baldrick's `novel') try this for starters (throws paper at Baldrick).


In Prince's House

(knock at door)

G: Enter!

E: Dr. Johnson, Your Highness.

G: Ah, Dr. Johnson! Damn cold day!

J: Indeed it is, sir -- but a very fine one, for I celebrated last night the
   encyclopaedic implementation of my pre-meditated orchestration of demotic
   Anglo-Saxon.

G: (nods, grinning, then speaks) Nope -- didn't catch any of that.

J:  Well, I simply observed, sir, that I'm felicitous, since, during the
    course of the penultimate solar sojourn, I terminated my uninterrupted
    categorisation of the vocabulary of our post-Norman tongue.

G: Well, I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds damn saucy,
   you lucky thing! I know some fairly liberal-minded girls, but I've
   never penultimated any of them in a solar sojourn, or, for that matter,
   been given any Norman tongue!

E: I believe, sir, that the Doctor is trying to tell you that he is happy
   because he has finished his book. It has, apparently, taken him ten years.

G: Yes, well, I'm a slow reader myself...

J: (places two manuscripts on the table, but picks up the top one)
   Here it is, sir: the very cornerstone of English scholarship. This book,
   sir, contains every word in our beloved language.

G: Hmm.

E: Every single one, sir?

J: (confidently) Every single word, sir!

E: (to Prince) Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if
   I also offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafribblarities.

J: What?

E: `Contrafribblarites', sir? It is a common word down our way.

J: Damn! (writes in the book)

E: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm anus-peptic, phrasmotic, even compunctious to have
   caused you such pericombobulation.

J: What? What? WHAT?

G: What are you on about, Blackadder? This is all beginning to sound a bit
   like dago talk to me.

E: I'm sorry, sir. I merely wished to congratulate the Doctor on not having
   left out a single word. (J sneers) Shall I fetch the tea, Your Highness?

G: Yes, yes -- and get that damned fire up here, will you?

E: Certainly, sir. I shall return interphrastically. (exits) (J writes some
   more)

G: So, Dr. Johnson. Sit ye down. Now, this book of yours...tell me, what's
   it all about?

J: It is a book about the English language, sir.

G: I see! And the hero's name is what?

J: There is no hero, sir.

G: No hero? Well, lucky I reminded you. Better put one in pronto! Ermm...
   call him `George'. `George' is a good name for a hero. Er, now; what about
   heroines?

J: There is no heroine, sir...unless it is our Mother Tongue.

G: Ah, the *mother's* the heroine. Nice twist. How far have we got, then? Old
   Mother Tongue is in love with George the Hero. Now what about murders?
   Mother Tongue doesn't get murdered, does she?

J: No she doesn't. No-one gets murdered, or married, or in a tricky situation
   over a pound note!

G: Well, now, look, Dr. Johnson, I may be as thick as a whale omelette, but
   even I know a book's got to have a plot.

J: Not this one, sir. It is a book that tells you what English words mean.

G: I *know* what English words mean; I *speak* English! You must be a bit
   of a thicko.

J: (stand) Perhaps you would rather not be patron of my book if you can see
   no value in it whatsoever, sir!

G: (stands) Well, perhaps so, sir! As it sounds to me as if my being patron
   of this complete cowpat of a book would set the seal once and for all on
   my reputation as an utter turnip-head!

J: Well! It is a reputation well deserved, sir! (sarcastically) Farewell!
   (opens door to find Edmund with tea tray)

E: Leaving already, Doctor? Not staying for your pendigestatery
   interludicule?

J: No, sir! Show me out!

E: Certainly, sir -- anything I can do to facilitate your velocitous
   extramuralisation.

J: (to Prince) You will regret this doubly, sir. Not only have you
   impecuniated (turns to Edmund and makes a boasting noise, then continues)
   my Dictionary, but you've also lost the chance to act as patron to the only
   book in the world that is even better.

E: Oh, and what is that, sir? "Dictionary II: The Return of the Killer
   Dictionary"?

J: No, sir! It is "Edmund: A Butler's Tale" (Edmund knocks over some of the
   teacups) by Gertrude Perkins -- a huge rollercoaster of a novel crammed
   with sizzling gypsies. (to Prince) Had you supported it, sir, it would
   have made you and me and Gertrude millionaires.

E: (shocked) Millionaires!! (clears his throat as J and P look at him oddly)

J: But it was not to be, sir. I fare you well; I shall not return.

E: (to Prince) Excuse me, sir. (follows Johnson out) Er, Dr. Johnson...
   A word, I beg you.

J: A word with you, sir, can mean seven million syllables. You might start
   now and not be finished by bedtime! (pauses, realised he's forgotten
   something) Oh, blast my eyes! In my fury, I have left my Dictionary
   with your foolish master! Go fetch it, will you?

E: Sir, the Prince is young and foolish, and has a peanut for a brain. Give
   me just a few minutes and I will deliver both the book and his patronage.

J: Oh, will you, sir... I very much doubt it. A servant who is an influence
   for the good is like a dog who speaks: very rare.

E: I think I can change his mind.

J: Hmpf! Well, I doubt it, sir. A man who can change a prince's mind is
   like a dog who speaks *Norwegian*: even rarer! I shall be at Mrs. Miggins'
   Literary Salon in twenty minutes. Bring the book there. (exits)


Back in the Prince's House (a fire is blazing in the fireplace)

E: Your Highness, may I offer my congratulations?

G: Well, thanks, Blackadder. That pompous babboon won't be back in a hurry.

E: Oh, on the contrary, sir. Dr. Johnson left in the highest of spirits.

G: What?

E: He is utterly thrilled at your promise to patronise his Dictionary.

G: I told him to sod off, didn't I?

E: Yes, sir, but that was a joke...surely.

G: Was it?

E: Certainly! and a brilliant one once more.

G: (happy at the idea he managed to pull off a joke, pretends that it was
   his intention all along) Yes, yes! I...er...suppose it was, rather,
   wasn't it...

E: So may I deliver your note of patronage to Dr. Johnson as promised?

G: Well, of course. If that's what I promised, then that's what I must do.
   ...and I remember promising it distinctly.

E: Excellent. (to Baldrick) Nice fire, Baldrick.

B: Thank you, Mr. B.

E: Right, let's get the book. Now; Baldrick, where's the manuscript?

B: You mean the big papery thing tied up with string?

E: Yes, Baldrick -- the manuscript belonging to Dr. Johnson.

B: You mean the baity fellow in the black coat who just left?

E: Yes, Baldrick -- Dr. Johnson.

B: So you're asking where the big papery thing tied up with string belonging
   to the baity fellow in the black coat who just left is.

E: Yes, Baldrick, I am, and if you don't answer, then the booted bony thing
   with five toes at the end of my leg will soon connect sharply with the
   soft dangly collection of objects in your trousers. For the last time,
   Baldrick: Where is Dr. Johnson's manuscript?

B: On the fire.

E: (shocked) On the *what*?

B: The hot orangy thing under the stony mantlepiece.

E: You *burned* the Dictionary?

B: Yup.

E: You burned the life's work of England's foremost man of letters?

B: Well, you did say "burn any old rubbish."

E: Yes, fine.

G: Isn't it, er...Isn't it going to be a bit difficult for me to patronise
   this book if we've burnt it?

E: Yes, it is, sir. If you would excuse me a moment...

G: Oh, of course, of course. Now that I've got my lovely fire, I'm as happy
   as a Frenchman who's invented a pair of self-removing trousers.

E: Baldrick, will you join me in the vestibule?


In the Vestibule

E: (grabs Baldrick by the lapels) *We* are going to go to Mrs. Miggins',
   we're going to find out where Dr. Johnson keeps a copy of that
   Dictionary, and then *you* are going to steal it.

B: Me?

E: Yes, you!

B: Why me?

E: Because you burnt it, Baldrick.

B: But then I'll go to Hell forever for stealing.

E: Baldrick, believe me: eternity in the company of Beezlebub and all his
   hellish instruments of death will be a picnic compared to five minutes
   with me -- and this pencil -- if we can't replace this Dictionary.


In Mrs. Miggins' coffee shoppe (`Literary Salon')

(Shelley, Coleridge, and Byron are at a table. Shelley sits up holding a
handkerchief; Byron stands very erect, staring straight ahead at nothing;
Coleridge appears dead. As Shelley begins to speak, the person at the next
table stands and moves to a table as far away as possible.)

S: O, Love-bourne ecstasy that is Mrs. Miggins, wilt thou bring me but one
   cup of the browned juicings of that naughty bean we call `coffee', ere I
   die...

M: (swoons) Ooohhhh, you do have a way of words with you, Mr. Shelley!

By: To Hell with this fine talking. Coffee, woman! My consumption grows
    evermore acute, and Coleridge's drugs are wearing off.

M: Ohh, Mr. Byron, don't be such a big girl's blouse!

(cut to outside of shoppe...dogs bark)

E: Don't forget the pencil, Baldrick.

B: Oh, I certainly won't, sir.

(Edmund and Baldrick enter)

E: Ah, good day to you, Mrs. Miggins.

M: (swoons and giggles)

E: A cup of your best hot water with brown grit in it -- unless, of course,
   by some miracle, your coffee shop has started selling coffee.

By: Be quiet, sir. Can't you see we're dying?

M: Don't you worry about my poets, Mr. Blackadder. They're not dead;
   they're just being intellectual.

E: Mrs. Miggins, there's nothing intellectual about wandering around Italy
   in a big shirt, trying to get laid. Why are they *here* of all places?

By: We are here, sir, to pay homage to the great Dr. Johnson, as, sir,
    should you!

E: Oh, well, absolutely! Erm...I intend to. Er, you wouldn't happen to have a
   copy of his Dictionary on you, would you, so I can do some revising before
   he gets here?

(Johnson enters)

J: Friends, I have returned.

(poets welcome him; Edmund says `Hurray')

By: So, sir, how was the Prince?

J: (adjusting his powdered wig) The Prince was and is an utter fool, and his
   household filled with cretinous servants. (his gaze then falls upon Edmund,
   and he does a double-take while the poets laugh)

E: Good afternoon, sir.

J: And you are the worst of them, sir. After all your boasting, have you
   my Dictionary and my patronage?

E: Not quite. The Prince begs just a few more hours to really get to
   grips with it.

J: Bah!!

Poets: Bah!!

E: However, I was wondering if a lowly servant such as I might be permitted
   to glance at a copy.

J: COPY?!

Poets and Johnson: COPY?!

J: There is no copy, sir.

E: No copy?

J: No, sir. Making a copy is like fitting wheels to a tomato, time consuming
   and completely unnecessary.

(poets laugh)

E: But what if the book got lost?

J: I should not lose the book, sir, (stands, coffee cup in hand, approaching
   Edmund menacingly) and if any other man should, I would tear off
   his head with my bare hands and feed it to the cat! (breaks coffee cup
   by squeezing)

E: Well, that's nice and clear.

By: And I, Lord Byron, (unsheathing a sword) would summon up fifty of my men,
    lay siege to the fellow's house and do bloody murder on him. (rests
    sword on Baldrick's shoulder)

C: (pointing a blade at Edmund) And I would not rest until the criminal was
   hanging by his hair, with an Oriental disembowelling cutlass thrust up his
   ignoble behind.

E: I hope you're listening to all this, Baldrick.


In Prince's House (Prince is peeling an apple)

E: Sir, I have been unable to replace the Dictionary. I am therefore leaving
   immediately for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat.

G: Why?

E: Because if I stay here, Dr. Johnson's companions will have me brutally
   murdered, sir.

G: Good God, Blackadder, that's terrible! (aside) Do you know any other
   butlers?

E: And, of course, when the people discover you have burnt Dr. Johnson's
   Dictionary, they may go round saying, "Look! There's thick George. He's
   got a brain the size of a weasel's wedding tackle."

G: In that case, something must be done!

B: I have a cunning plan, sir.

G: Hurrah! Well, that's that, then.

E: I wouldn't get overexcited, sir. I have a horrid suspicion that Baldrick's
   plan will be the stupidest thing we've heard since Lord Nelson's famous
   signal at the Battle of the Nile: "England knows Lady Hamilton's a virgin.
   Poke my eye out and cut off my arm if I'm wrong."

G: Great! Let's hear it, then.

B: It's brilliant. You take the string -- that's still not completely
   burnt -- you scrape off the soot, and you shove the pages in again.

E: Which pages?

B: Well, not the same ones, of course.

E: Yes, I think I'm on the point of spotting the flaw in this plan, but do
   go on. Which pages are they?

B: Well, this is the brilliant bit: You write some new ones.

E: ...some new ones. You mean rewrite the Dictionary. I sit down tonight and
   rewrite the Dictionary that took Dr. Johnson ten years.

B: Yup.

E: Baldrick, that is by far and away, and without a shadow of doubt, the
   worst and most comtemptible plan in the history of the universe. On the
   other hand, I hear the sound of disembowelling cutlasses being sharpened,
   and it's the only plan we've got, so if you will excuse me, gentlemen...

G: Perhaps you'd like me to lend a hand, Blackadder. I'm not as stupid as I
   look.

B: I *am* as stupid as I look, sir, but if I can help, I will.

E: Well, it's very kind of you both, but I fear your services might be as
   useful as a barber shop on the steps of the guillotine.

G: Oh, come on, Blackadder, give us a try!

E: Very well, sir, as you wish. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
   First: `A'. How would you define `a'?

B: Ohh...`a' (continues this in background)

G: Oh, I love this! I love this: quizzies...Errmmm, hang on, it's coming...
   ooohh, crikey, errmm, oh yes, I've got it!

E: What?

G: Well, it doesn't really mean anything, does it?

E: Good. So we're well on the way, then. " `a'; impersonal pronoun;
   doesn't really mean anything." Right! Next: `A'... `A-B'.

(Baldrick and Prince ponder over this)

B: Well, it's a buzzing thing, isn't it. "A buzzing thing."

E: Baldrick, I mean something that starts with `A-B'.

B: Honey? Honey starts with a bee.

G: He's right, you know, Blackadder. Honey does start a bee...and a flower,
   too.

E: Yes, look, this really isn't getting anywhere. And besides, I've left out
   `aardvark'.

G: Oh well, don't say we didn't give it a try.

E: No, Your Highness, it was a brave start, but I fear I must proceed on my
   own. Now; Baldrick, go to the kitchen and make me something quick and sim-
   ple to eat, would you? Two slices of bread with something in between.

B: What, like Gerald, Lord Sandwich, had the other day?

E: Yes -- a few rounds of Geralders.


(Sometime later, it is nighttime. Edmund is sitting at desk writing the
dictionary. Candles flicker. Prince George and Baldrick come in)

G: How goes it, Blackadder?

E: Not all that well, sir.

G: Well, let's have a look...(reads) "Medium-sized insectivore with
   protruding nasal implement." (pauses) Doesn't sound much like a bee to me.

E: (shouts) It's an aardvark! Can't you see that, Your Highness? It's a
   bloody aardvark!!

G: Oh dear -- still on `aardvark', are we?

E: Yes, I'm afraid we are. And if I ever meet an aardvark, I'm going to
   step on its damn protruding nasal implement until it couldn't suck
   up an insect if its life depended on it.

G: Got a bit stuck, have you?

E: I'm sorry, sir. It's five hours later, and I've got every word in the
   English language except `a' and `aardvark' still to do. And I'm not
   very happy with my definition of either of them.

G: Well, don't panic, Blackadder, because I have some rather good news.

E: Oh? What?

G: Well, we didn't take `no' for an answer, and have, in fact, been working
   all night. I've done `B'.

E: Really? And how have you got on?

G: Well, I had a bit of trouble with `belching', but I think I got it
   sorted out in the end. (burps) Oh no, there I go again! (laughs)

E: You've been working on that joke for some time, haven't you, sir?

G: Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact, yes.

E: Since you started...

G: Basically.

E: So, in fact, you haven't done any work at all.

G: Not as such, no.

E: Great. Baldrick, what have you done?

B: I've done `C' and `D'.

E: Right, let's have it, then.

B: Right. "Big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in."

E: What's that?

B: `Sea'.

E: Yes -- tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren't high. Now;
   what about `D'?

B: I'm quite pleased with `dog'.

E: Yes, and your definition of `dog' is...?

B: "Not a cat."

E: Excellent. Excellent! Your Highness, may I have a word?

G: Certainly.

E: As you know, sir, it has always been my intention to stay with you until
   you had a strapping son and I one likewise to take over the burdens
   of my duties.

G: That's right, Blackadder, and I thank you for it.

E: But I'm afraid, sir, that there has been a change of plan. I am off to
   the kitchen to hack my head off with a big knife.

G: Oh, come on, Blackadder, it's only a book. Let's just damn the fellow's
   eyes, strip the britches from his backside and warm his heels to Putney
   Bridge! HURRAH!

E: Sir, these are not the days of Alfred the Great. You can't just lop
   someone's head off and blame it on the Vikings.

G: Can't I, by God!

E: No.

G: Oh, well, all right, then let's just get on with it! I mean, boil my
   brains, it's only a dictionary. No-one's asked us to eat ten raw pigs
   for breakfast. Good Lord, I mean, we're *British*, aren't we? (exits)

E: (mutters) You're not; you're German. (to Baldrick) Get me some coffee,
   Baldrick. If I fall asleep before Monday, we're doomed!


(Monday morning)

B: Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up...

E: What time is it?

B: Monday morning.

E: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my God! I've overslept! Where's the quill?
   Where's the parchment?

B: I don't know. Maybe Dr. Johnson's got some with him.

E: WHAT??!

B: He's outside.

E: (screams) AAAOOOOHHHH!

(Johnson enters)

J: Are you ill, sir?

E: No, you can't have it. I know I said Monday, but I want Baldrick to read
   it, which, unfortunately will mean teaching him to read, which will take
   about ten years -- but time well spent, I think, because it's such a very
   good dictionary.

J: I don't think so.

E: (exclaims) Oh God! We've been burgled!! (pauses) What?

J: I think it's an awful dicitonary, full of feeble definitions and ridiculous
   verbiage. I've come to ask you to chuck the damn thing in the fire.

E: Are you sure?

J: I've never been so sure of anything in my life, sir.

E: I love you, Dr. Johnson, and I want to have your babies. (they embrace;
   Edmund notices a woman standing behind Johnson) Oh, sorry, excuse me, Dr.
   Johnson, but my Auntie Marjorie has just arrived. (looks at Baldrick, who
   has an dog's head) Baldrick, who gave you permission to turn into an
   Alsatian? (Baldrick waves; Edmund realises the absurdity of the scene)
   Oh God, it's a dream, isn't it? (Johnson, Baldrick and Auntie twirl out
   the door) It's a bloody dream! (sound of harps is heard) Dr. Johnson
   doesn't want us to burn his Dictionary at all.


(Monday morning - Take Two)

B: Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up...

E: What time is it?

B: Monday morning.

E: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my God! I've overslept! Where's the quill?
   Where's the parchment?

B: I don't know. Maybe Dr. Johnson's got some with him.

E: WHAT??!

B: He's outside.

E: AA-- Now, hang on. Hang on. If we go on like this, you're going to turn
   into an Alsatian again.

(Johnson and other poets bang noisily at the door)

E: Oh my God! Quick, Baldrick, we've got to escape.

S: (?), sir! Bring out the Dictionary at once.

By: Bring it out, sir, or, in my passion, I shall kill everyone by giving
    them syphilis!

C: Bring it out, sir, and also any opium plants you may have around there.

J: Bring it out, sir, or we shall break down the door!

E: (opens the door) Ah, good morning. Dr. Johnson, Lord Byron--

J: Where is my Dictionary?

E: And what dictionary would this be?

J: The one that has taken eighteen hours of every day for the last ten years.
   My mother died; I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it
   in garlic in the hope of attracting my attention; I scarcely looked up from
   my work. My wife brought armies of lovers to the house, who worked in
   droves so that she might bring up a huge family of bastards. I cannot--

E: Am I to presume that my elaborate bluff has not worked?

J: Dictionary!

E: Right, well, the truth is, Doctor -- now, don't get cross, don't over-
   react -- the truth is: we burnt it.

J: Then you die!

(Poets all raise their swords to Edmund; Prince George enters from his
sleeping quarters, carrying the dictionary)

G: 'morning, everyone. You know, this Dictionary really is a cracking good
   read. It's an absolutely splendid job!

J: My Dictionary! (to Edmund) But you said you burned it!

E: Erm...

G: I think it's a splendid book, and I look forward to patronising it
   enormously!

J: Oh, well, thank you, sir. Well, I think I'm man enough to sacrifice the
   pleasure of killing to maintain the general good humour. (to poets)
   There's to be no murder today, gentlemen. (poets complain) But prepare
   to Mrs. Miggins' -- I shall join you there later for a roister you will
   never forget!

(poets cheer and exit)

J: (to George) So, ahem, tell me, sir, what words particularly interested
   you?

G: Oh, er, nothing... Anything, really, you know...

J: Ah, I see you've udnerlined a few (takes dictionary, reads): `bloomers';
   `bottom'; `burp'; (turns a page) `fart'; `fiddle'; `fornicate'?

G: Well...

J: Sir! I hope you're not using the first English dictionary to look up
   rude words!

E: I wouldn't be too hopeful; that's what all the other ones will be
   used for.

B: (to Edmund) Sir, can I look up `turnip'?

E: `Turnip' isn't a rude word, Baldrick.

B: It is if you sit on one.

J: Really, sir, we have more important business in hand. I refer, of course,
   to the works of the mysterious Gertrude Perkins.

E: Mysterious no more, sir. It is time for the truth. I can, at last, reveal
   the identity of the great Gertrude Perkins.

J: Sir, who is she?

E: She, sir, is me, sir. I am Gertrude Perkins.

G: Good Lord!!

E: And what's more: I can prove it. Bring out the manuscript, and I will show
   you that my signature corresponds exactly with that on the front.

J: Why, I must have left it here when I left the Dictionary.

G: This is terribly exciting!!!

E: Baldrick, fetch my novel.

B: Novel?

E: Yes -- the big papery thing tied up with string.

B: What, like the thing we burnt?

E: Exactly like the thing we burnt.

B: So you're asking for the big papery thing tied up with string, exactly
   like the thing we burnt.

E: Exactly.

B: We burnt it.

E: So we did. Thank you, Baldrick -- seven years of my life up in smoke.
   Your Highness, would you excuse me a moment?

G: By all means.

(Edmund exits)

E: (from outside) OH GOD, NO!!!!!!!!!!!! (re-enters) Thank you, sir.

J: Burned, you say? That's most inconvenient. A burned novel is like a
   burned dog: You--

E: Oh shut up!

B: (to Johnson) Sir, I have a novel. (gives Johnson the bit of paper seen
   earlier)

J: (reads) "Once upon a time there was a lovely little sausage called `B--"
   `Sausage'?! `SAUSAGE'?!!!!! Oh, blast your eyes! (throws paper down and
   exits angrily)

B: Oh, well, I didn't think it was that bad!

E: (looking inside the Dictionary) I think you'll find he left `sausage'
   out of his Dictionary, Baldrick. (shuts the Dictionary, but notices
   something on the first page) Oh, and `aardvark'...

G: Oh, come on, Blackadder; it's not all that bad -- nothing a nice roaring
   fire can't solve. Er, Baldrick, do the honours, will you?

B: Certainly, Your Majesty.

(Prince and Edmund exit. Baldrick picks up Edmund's crumpled papers from
trying to write the Dictionary, and the real Dictionary. He thumbs through
the Dictionary, then tosses it into the fire.)

(End/Credits roll)


                                 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
                            INK and INCAPABILITY
             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
              Dr. Samuel Johnson, noted for his fat dictionary,
                            Mr. ROBBIE COLTRANE
                     Mrs. Miggins, a coffee shoppekeeper,
                         Miss. HELEN ATKINSON-WOOD
              Shelley,\                          Mr. LEE CORNES
                Byron, > romantic junkie poets   Mr. STEVE STEEN
            Coleridge,/                          Mr. JIM SWEENEY

             MUSIC (never perform'd before), Mr. HOWARD GOODALL

                 designer of graphics, Mr. GRAHAM McCALLUM
                    buyer of properties, Miss. JUDY FARR
                 designer of costumes, Miss. ANNIE HARDINGE
                  designer of make-up, Miss. VICKY POCOCK
                    mixer of vision, Miss. ANGELA WILSON
                    supervisor of cameras, Mr. RON GREEN
                  editor of videotape, Mr. CHRIS WADSWORTH
                   director of lighting, Mr. RON BRISTOW
               co-ordinator of technicalities, Mr. JOHN LATUS
                  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

Blackadder III, Episode 1 - Dish and Dishonesty

Black Adder III, Episode 1

Dish and Dishonesty

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


M: Mrs. Miggins
B: Baldrick
E: Edmund Blackadder
P: Pitt the Younger (and the Even Younger)
I: Ivor Biggun
H: Vincent Hanna
T: Sir Talbot Buxomly
G: Prince George


At Mrs. Miggins' home

E: Well, Mrs. Miggins, at last we can return to sanity. The hustings are
   over, the bunting is down, the mad hysteria is at an end. After the
   chaos of a general election, we can return to normal.

M: Oh, has there been a general election, then, Mr. Blackadder?

E: Indeed there has, Mrs. Miggins.

M: Oh, well, I never heard about it.

E: Well of course you didn't; you're not eligible to vote.

M: Well, why not?

E: Because virtually no-one is: women, peasants, (looks at Baldrick)
   chimpanzees (Baldrick looks behind himself, trying to see the animal),
   lunatics, Lords...

B: That's not true -- Lord Nelson's got a vote!

E: He's got a *boat*, Baldrick. Marvelous thing, democracy. Look at
   Manchester: population, 60,000; electoral roll, 3.

M: Well, I may have the brain the size of a sultana(sp?)...

E: Correct...

M: ...but it hardly seems fair to me.

E: Of course it's not fair -- and a damn good thing too. Give the like of
   Baldrick the vote and we'll be back to cavorting druids, death by
   stoning, and dung for dinner.

B: Oh, I'm having dung for dinner tonight.

M: So, who are they electing when they have these elections?

E: Ah, the same old (?): fat tory landowners who get made MPs when
   they reach a certain weight; raving revolutionaries who think that just
   because they do a day's work that somehow gives them the right to get
   paid... Basically, it's a right old mess. Toffs at the top, plebs at the
   bottom, and me in the middle making a fat pile of cash out of both of them.

M: Oh, you'd better watch out, Mr. Blackadder; things are bound to change.

E: Not while Pitt the Elder's Prime Minister they aren't. He's about as
   effective as a catflap in an elephant house. As long as his feet are warm
   and he gets a nice cup of milky tea in the sun before his morning nap,
   he doesn't bother anyone until his potty needs emptying.


In the House of Commons (occasionally, sheep are heard in the background)

(a voice, the Speaker)

S: Honourable members of the House of Commons, I call upon the new Prime
   Minister of Great Britain and Her Empires: Mr. William Pitt, the Younger.

P: Mr. Speaker, members of the House: I shall be brief, as I have, rather
   unfortunately, become Prime Minister right in the middle of my exams.
   I look forward to fulfilling my duty in a manner of which Nanny would
   be proud. I shall introduce legislation to utterly destory three enemies
   of the State. The first is that evil dictator, Napoleon Bonaparte.

(Members shout `Here here!!')

P: The second is my old Geography master, (Benonabreast Switchanks?).
   But most of all, sirs, I intend to pursue that utter slob, The Prince of
   Wales! Why, this year alone, he has spent 15,000 pounds on banqueting
   (shouts of `boo! boo!'), 20,000 pounds on perfume (members all hold their
   noses), and -- most astonishing of all -- an astonishing 59,000 pounds on
   socks! Therefore, my three main policy priorities are: 1) War with France;
   2) Tougher sentences for geography teachers; and 3) A right royal kick of
   the Prince's backside!!

(all members shout affirmatively)

P: I now put upon the leader of the Opposition to test me on my Latin vocab.


At Prince's House

E: Sir, if I may make so bold, a major crisis has arisen in your affairs.

G: Yes, I know, Blackadder. I've been pondering it all morning.

E: You have, sir?

G: Yes -- socks! Run out again!! Why is it that no matter how many millions of
   pairs of socks I buy, I never seem to have any?

E: Sir, with your forgiveness, there is another, even weightier, problem.

G: They just...disappear! Honestly, you'd think someone was coming in here,
   stealing the damn things and then selling them off.

E: (laughs) Impossible, sir. Only you and I have access to your socks.

G: Yes, yes, you're right. Still; for me, socks are like sex: tons of it
   about, and I never seem to get any.

E: Now, if I may return to this very urgent matter... I read fearful news in
   this morning's paper.

G: Oh no... Not another little cat caught up in a tree...

E: No, sir. There's a vote afoot in the new Parliament to strike you from the
   Civil List.

G: Oh, yes, yes, yes, but what are they going to do about my socks!

E: Sir, if this bill goes through, you won't have any socks.

G: Well, I haven't got any socks at the moment!

E: ...or trousers, shirts, waistcoats, or pantaloons. They're going to
   bankrupt you.

G: Well, they can't do that. Why, the public love me! Only the other day, I
   was out in the street and they sang, `We hail Prince George! We hail Prince
   George!'

E: `We *hate* Prince George', sir. `We *hate* Prince George!'

G: Was it?

E: I fear so, sir. However, all is not lost. Fortunately, the numbers in the
   Commons are exactly equal. If we can get one more MP to support us, then
   you're safe.

G: Well, hurrah! Any ideas?

E: Well, yes, sir. There is one man who might be the ace up our sleeve. A
   rather crusty, loudmouthed ace named Sir Talbot Buxomly.

G: Never heard of him.

E: That's hardly surprising, sir. Sir Talbot has the worst attendence record
   of any member of Parliament. On the one occasion he did enter the House of
   Commons, he passed water in the Great Hall, and then passed *out* in the
   Speaker's Chair. But if we can get him to support us, then we are safe.

G: Well, what's he like?

E: Well, according to `Who's Who', his interests include flogging servants,
   shooting poor people, and the extension of slavery to anyone who hasn't
   got a knighthood.

G: Excellent! Sensible policies for a happier Britain!

E: However, if we are to get him to support us, he will need some sort of
   incentive.

G: Hmm. Anything in mind?

E: Well, you could appoint him a High Court judge...

G: Is he qualified?

E: He's a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.

G: Sounds a bit *over*qualified... Well, send him here at once!

E: Certainly, sir. I will return before you can say `antidisestablishment-
   arianism'.

G: Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that! `Antidistibblincemin...'
   `Antimistilinstid...'  `Antistits...'

(Caption: Two Days Later)

G: Anti-distinctly-minty-(???)...

E: (returns with Buxomly, who staggers)
   Your Highness: Sir Talbot Buxomly, MP.

G: Ah, Buxomly! Roaringly splendid to have you here. How are you, sir?

T: Heartily well, Your Highness. I dined hugely off of servants before
   I come into town.

G: Um, you eat your servants?

T: No, sir -- I eat *off* them. Why should I spend good money on tables when
   I have men standing idle?

G: Why, indeed! Now; I dare say you've heard of Mr. Pitt's intentions...

T: Young scallywag!

G: Ah, so you don't approve of his plans to abolish me, then.

T: I do not, sir. Damn his eyes! Damn his britches! Damn his duck pond!

G: Well, hurrah for that!

T: I care not a jot that you are the son of a certified sauerkraut-sucking
   loon!

G: Ah, thank you, sir.

T: It minds not me that you dress like a mad parrot and talk like a plate of
   beans negotiating their way out of a cow's digestive system. It is no
   skin off my rosy nose that there are bits of lemon peel floating down the
   Thames that would make better Regents than you.

G: Well, bravo!

T: The fact is, you *are* Regent...

G: Yes, I am...

T: ...appointed by God, and I shall stick by you forever, though infirmity
   lay me waste and ill health curse my every waking moment. (falls into the
   chair)

G: Ah, good on you, sir. And don't talk to me about infirmity. Why, sir, you
   are the hardy stock that is the core of Britain's greatness. You have the
   physique of a demigod. Purple of cheek, and plump of fatlock, the shapely
   ankle and the well-filled trouser that tells of a human body in perfect
   working order.

E: (who has found T's stillness rather odd and is checking for a pulse)
   He's dead, sir.

G: Dead?

E: Yes, Your Highness.

G: Oh, what bad luck; we were rather getting on.

E: We must move at once.

G: In which direction?

E: Sir Talbot represented the constituency of Dunny-on-the-Wold, and, by
   an extraordinary stroke of luck, it is a rotten borough.

G: Really! Is it! Well, lucky-lucky us. Lucky-lucky-luck.
   (as a chicken) Luck-luck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-
   cluck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK.

E: You don't know what a rotten borough is, do you, sir.

G: No.

E: So what was the chicken impression in aid of?

G: Well, I just didn't want to hurt your feelings. Erm, so, what is a robber
   button?

E: *Rotten borough*.

G: Oh, yes, you're right.

E: A rotten borough, sir, is a constituency where the owner
   of the land corruptly controls the both the voters and the MP.

G: Good, yes...and a robber button is...?

E: Could we leave that for a moment? Dunny-on-the-Wold is a tuppenny-
   ha'penny place. Half an acre of sodden marshland in the Suffolk Fens
   with an empty town hall on it. Population: three rather mangy cows, a
   dachshund named `Colin', and a small hen in its late forties.

G: So, no people at all, then? apart from Colin...

E: Colin is a dog, sir.

G: Well, yes, yes, yes...

E: Only one actual person lives there, and he is the voter.

G: Well, right! So, what's the plan?

E: We must buy Dunny-on-the-Wold at once and thus control the voter. I shall
   need a thousand pounds.

G: A thousand pounds? I thought you said it was a...`tuppenny ha'penny' place.

E: Well, yes, sir, the land will cost tuppence-ha'penny, but there are
   many other factors to be considered: (stamp?) duty, window tax, swamp
   insurance, hen food, dog biscuits, cow (ointment?) -- the expenses are
   endless.

G: Fine. Well, the money's in my desk.

E: No, sir -- it's in my wallet.

G: Oh, splendid! No time to lose, eh?

E: My thoughts presicely, sir. The only question is who to choose as MP.

G: Yeah, tricky.

E: What we need is an utter unknown yet someone over whom we have complete
   power. A man with no mind, with no ideas of his own. One might almost
   say a man with no brain.  (he rings the servant bell)

G: Well...any thoughts?

E: Yes, Your Highness.

(Baldrick enters)

B: You rang, My Lord?

E: (to George) Meet the new member of Parliament for Dunny-on-the-Wold.

G: But he's an absolute arsehead!

E: Precisely, sir. Our slogan shall be: "A rotten candidate for a rotten
   borough." Baldrick, I want you to go back to your kitchen sink, you see,
   and prepare for government.


At Baldrick's/Blackadder's Quarters

E: Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. Name:
   `Baldrick'. First name...?

B: Er, I'm not sure.

E: Well, you must have some idea...

B: Well, it might be `Sod off'.

E: What?

B: Well, when I used to play in the gutter, I used to say to the other
   snipes, "Hello, my name's Baldrick," and they'd say, "Yes, we know.
   Sod off, Baldrick."

E: All right, right right right right, `Mr. S. Baldrick'. Now; distinguishing
   features... `None'.

B: Well, I've got this big growth in the middle of my face.

E: That's your nose, Baldrick. Now; any history of insanity in the family?
   Tell you what, I'll cross out the `in'. Any history of *sanity* in the
   family? `None whatsoever'. Now then; criminal record...

B: Absolutely not.

E: Oh, come on, Baldrick, you're going to be an MP, for God's sake! I'll just
   put `fraud and sexual deviancy'. Now; minimum bribe level...

B: One turnip. Oh, hang on, I don't want to price myself out of the market.

E: Baldrick, I've always been meaning to ask: Do you have any ambitions in
   life apart from the aquisition of turnips?

B: Er, no.

E: So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?

B: I'd get a little turnip of my own.

E: So what would you do if I gave you a million pounds?

B: Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big turnip in the country.

(someone knocks at the door)

E: Oh God, I'll get that. Here (pushes paper to Baldrick), sign here.
   (motions where with his hand; Baldrick marks an `X' on Edmund's palm;
   Edmund presses his palm against the application.)


At Prince's House

E: Your Highness; Pitt the Younger.

G: Why, hello there, young sabre, m'lad! I say, here's one: I've a shiny
   sixpence here and for the clever fellow who can tell me which hand it's
   in.

(Pitt just stares.)

G: Hmm? Oh, school, school! On half hols, is it? Yeah, I bet you can't wait
   to get back and get that bat in your hand and give those balls a good
   walloping, eh?

E: Mr. Pitt is the Prime Minister, sir.

G: Oh, go on! Is he? What, young Snotty here?

P: I'd rather have a runny nose than a runny brain.

G: Eh?

E: Umm, excuse me, Prime Minister, but we do have some lovely jelly in the
   pantry, I don't know if you'd be interested at all...?

P: Don't patronise me, you lower middle class yobbo! (aside) What flavour
   is it?

E: Blackcurrant.

P: eeeeuuuuuaaaghhhh!

G: I say, Blackadder, are you sure this is the PM? Seems like a bit of an
   oily tick to me. When I was at school, we used to line up four or five
   of his sort, make them bend over, and use them as a toastrack.

P: You don't surprise me, sir -- I know your sort. Once, it was I who stood
   in the big, cold schoolroom, a hot crumpet burning my cheeks with shame.
   Since that day, I have been busy, every hour God sends, working to become
   Prime Minister and fight sloth and privilege wherever I found it.

E: I trust you weren't too busy to remove the crumpet...

P: You will regret this, gentlemen. You think you can thwart my plans to bank-
   rupt the Prince by fixing the Dunny-on-the-Wold bye-election, but you will
   be thrashed! I intend to put up my own brother as a candidate against you.

E: Oh, and which Pitt would this be: Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt
   the Glint in the Milkman's Eye?

P: Sirs, as I said to Chancellor (Messenec?) at the Congress of Strasbourg:
   `Pooh to you with knobs on!' We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings. (exits)

G: I say, Blackadder, what a ghastly (squit?)! He's not going to win, is he?

E: No, sir, because, firstly, we shall fight this campaign on issues, not
   personalities. Secondly, we shall be the only fresh thing on the menu. And
   thirdly, of course, we'll cheat.


At the Election Polls
(announcer, Vincent Hanna, speaks)

H: Good evening and welcome to the Dunny-on-the-Wold bye-election. The first
   thing I must tell you is that the turnout has been very good. As a matter
   of fact, the voter turned out before breakfast. And I can bring you the
   result of our exculsive exit poll, which produced a 100-percent result for
   "Mind-Your-Own-Business-You-Nosy-Bastard."

(a voice shouts out): Mr. Hanna, are you going to talk to any of the
                      candidates?

H: I certainly am, and I can see Prince George, who is leader of what has
   become known as the `Adder Party'; Prince George, who is described in his
   party news sheet as a "great moral and spiritual leader of the nation," but
   is described by almost everyone else as a "fat, flatulent git." (to George)
   Prince George, hello.

G: (holding a dachshund) Good evening.

H: ...and good evening, Colin.  Er, how do you see your prospects in this
   campaign?

G: Well, er, first, I'd like a word about the disgraceful circumstances in
   which this election arose. We paid for this seat, and I think it's a damn
   liberty that we should have to stand for it as well. And another thing, why
   is it that no matter how many pairs of socks a man buys, he never seems to
   have enough?  (leaves)

H: (Fitting?) words from the Prince Regent. And now let's have a word from
   the Adder Party candidate, Mr. S. Baldrick, who so far has not (Baldrick
   enters with a turnip in his mouth, the leaves sticking out) commented on
   his policies in this campaign, but with him is his election agent, Mr. E.
   Blackadder.

E: Well, we in the Adder Party are going to fight this campaign on issues,
   not personalities.

H: Why is that?

E: Because our candidate doesn't have a personality.

H: He doesn't say much about the issues, either.

E: No; he's got something wrong with his throat.

H: Well, perhaps he could answer one question: What does the `S' in his name
   stand for?

E: `Sod off'. (leaves)

H: Fair enough, er, none of my business, really. And now it's time, I think,
   for a result, and tension is running very high here. Mr. Blackadder assures
   me that this will be the first honest vote ever in a rotten borough. And I
   think we all hope for a result which reflects the real needs of the
   constituency. And behind me...yes, I can just see the Returning Officer
   moving to the front of the platform.

E: As the Acting Returning Officer of Dunny-on-the-Wold...

H: (cuts in) Er, the Acting Returning Officer, Mr. E. Blackadder, of course.
   And we're all very grateful, indeed, that he stepped in at the last minute,
   when the previous Returning Officer accidently brutally stabbed himself
   in the stomach while shaving.

E: I now announce the number of votes cast as follows: Brigadier General
   Horace Bolsom...

H: (cuts) Cheap-Royalty-White-Rat-Catching-And-Safe-Sewage Residents Party...

E: No votes.

(Bolsom pushes his way off platform)

E: Ivor `Jest-ye-not-madam' Biggun...

H: (cuts) Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party...

E: No votes.

(Ivor laughs, plays a bazooka (kazoo) in E's ear, laughs more and waves)

E: Pitt, the Even Younger...

H: (cuts) Whig...

E: No votes.

H: Oh, there's a shock.

(Pitt the Even Younger turns to his mum and cries)

E: Mr. S. Baldrick...

H: (cuts) Adder Party...

E: Sixteen thousand, four hundred, and seventy-two.

(Cheers are heard.)

H: And there you have it: victory for the Adder Party -- a sensational swing
   against the Whigs. I'll just try to get a final word from some of the
   candidates as they come up from the stage. Master William Pitt the Even
   Younger, are you disappointed?

P (the Even Younger): (stomps on) Yes! I'm horrified! I smeared my opponent,
  bribed the press to be on my side, and threatened to torture the electorate
  if we lost. I fail to see what more a decent politician could have done.
  (stomps off)

H: Quite. Now; Ivor Biggun, no votes at all for the Standing-At-The-Back-
   Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party. Are you disappointed?

I: Ah, no, not really, no... I always say, "If you can't laugh, what *can*
   you do?" Ha-ha-ha-ha (squirts Hanna with flower).

H: ...take up politics, perhaps. Has your party got any policies?

I: Oh yes, certainly! We're for the compulsory serving of asparagus at break-
   fast, free corsets for the under-fives, and the abolition of slavery.

H: Now, you see, many moderate people would respect your stand on asparagus,
   but what about this extremist nonsense about abolishing slavery?

I: Oh, we just put that in for a joke! See you next year!

H: And now, finally, a word with the man who is at the centre of this bye-
   election mystery: the voter himself. And his name is Mr. E. Bla--
   Mr. Blackadder, *you* are the only voter in this rotten borough...?

E: Yes, that's right.

H: How long have you lived in this constituency?

E: Since Wednesday morning. I took over the previous electorate when he, very
   sadly, accidently brutally cut his head off while combing his hair.

H: One voter, 16,472 votes -- a slight anomaly...?

E: Not really, Mr. Hanna. You see, Baldrick may look like a monkey who's
   been put in a suit and then strategically shaved, but he is a brillant
   politician. The number of votes I cast is simply a reflection of how
   firmly I believe in his policies.

H: Well, that's excellent. Er, well, that's all for me -- another great day
   for democracy in our country. Vincent Hanna; Country Gentleman's Pig
   Fertilizer Gazette; Dunny-on-the-Wold.


At Baldrick/Blackadder's Quarters

E: Your reprieve (puts something on table). It is a triumph for stupidity
   over common sense.

B: Thank you very much.

E: As a reward, Baldrick, take a short holiday... Did you enjoy it?
   Right; on your way.


At House of Commons

(Baldrick is wearing a powdered wig, with his natural hair sticking out from
beneath)

Speaker: Will the honourable Members please cast their votes, `aye' or `nay',
         for the striking of the Prince Regent off the Civil List.

B: (perplexed) Er, excuse me, excuse me (all others walk away to vote), er...
   EXCUSE ME!

P: (appears from behind Baldrick's pew) Hello, chappie... You a new bug?

B: Yeah, I don't know anyone here, and I support the Prince and I don't know
   how to vote!

P: Well, we can soon change all of that, can't we? Come along with me...

B: Oh, thanks.


At Prince's House

(a knock at the door; Edmund opens it to find Pitt the Younger.)

E: Well, well, well: if it isn't the Lord Privy Toastrack! Pull up a muffin;
   sit yourself down.

P: You don't like me, do you, Mr. Blackadder?

E: Well, nobody likes a loser.

P: Oh, then that's why nobody likes *you*.

E: (serious) What?

P: You lost the vote. Your monkey obligingly voted for us.

E: Oh God, no... If you want something done properly, kill Baldrick before
   you start.

P: You're beaten, Oik! And you and your disgusting master have twenty-four
   hours to get out.

E: Twenty-four hours is a long time in politics. Good day.

P: There is just one thing before I go... (confidentially) I've got this
   sort of downy hair developing on my chest -- is that normal? Also, I get
   so lonely and confused. I've written a poem about it; maybe you'll under-
   stand. "Why do nice girls hate me? Why--

E: Get out, you nausating adolescent! (shoos him out the door) Piss off!



At Mrs. Miggins' home

(Baldrick is tied to a spit; Mrs. Miggins turns it.)

E: How could I have been so stupid? Goodbye, Millionaire's Row; Hello, Room 12
   of the (Budley-Sortiton?) Twilight Rest Home for the Terminally Short
   of Cash!

M: ...and to think you once dreamed you'd end up in the House of Lords.

E: What?

M: The House of Lords.

E: Of course! I'd forgotten about the House of Lords! The Lords will never
   let the bill through. Every man-jack of them will be behind the Prince.

M: Oh, hurrah!

E: Right, take Baldrick off the spit.

B: Hurrah...

E: I've got a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.


(Sometime later, in Prince's House)

E: Da-daa!

G: (looking through a telescope) Oi, tallyho, Blackadder! You look as happy
   as a man who thought a cat had done its business on his pie, but it turned
   out to be an extra big blackberry. Did our plan go well?

E: Excellently, sir. Order a thousand pairs of finest cotton socks; take out
   the drawings for that beach hut at Brighton...

G: Hurrah!

E: There was, however, one slight -- ahem -- hiccup.

G: No... `cough', I think you mean.

E: No, sir... `Hiccup'. The motion about your improverishment has now moved
   on to the House of Lords.

G: Oh, bravo! Well, no worry there, then. Every man-jack of them will be
   behind me.

E: Ah, would that were so, Your Highness. These are treacherous times.

G: Are they?

E: Yes. It might be wise to appoint a *new* Lord, to make sure the old Lords
   vote the right way.

G: Good thought... (ponders) New Lord...any idea who?

E: Well, sir, one name does leap to mind.

G: Does it?

E: Yes, sir.

G: You couldn't make it leap any higher, could you?

E: A young man in your service, sir, who has done sterling work matching the
   political machinations of the evil Pitt.

G: Ah, of course! Blackadder, oh, how can I ever thank you enough?

E: And it might also be worth bribing a few Lords, just to make sure they
   vote the way their consciences tell them.

G: Oh, well, how many should we should bribe, do you think?

E: Oh, I think three hundred, to be sure...at a thousand pounds each.

G: Three hundred thousand pounds?

E: *Four* hundred thousand, I think you'll find, sir.

(Prince tries to calculate this)

G: Yes, yes, you're right. Well, thank God I've got you to advise me, Bladder.
   Just remind me, what do I have to do to appoint this Lord chappie?

E: Oh, it's very simple, sir. You put on your robes of State, he puts on his,
   then you sign the Document of Ennoblement and dispatch him at once to the
   House of Lords.

G: Excellent! I shall change immediately.  (leaves)

E: And so, sir, shall I.


At Baldrick/Blackadder's Quarters

(Edmund comes in with his `Lords' robe)

E: Voila, Mrs. Miggins. My robes of State. My thousand pounds well spent,
   I think.

M: Oooohhh, very nice! Oooohhhhhh, it's real cat, isn't it?

E: This is not cat, Mrs. Miggins. This is finest, leather-trimmed ermine
   with gold medallion accessories.

M: Oh go on, Mr. Blackadder -- it's cat. Oooh, look, they've left the little
   collars on!

E: (reads a collar) `Mr. Frisky. If found, please return to Emma Hamilton,
   Marine Parade, Portsmouth'? oh God! Ah, well, who cares about a dead cat
   now that I'm a fat cat.

M: Oooh, you're full of yourself today, Mr. B!

E: ...which is more than can be said for Mr. Frisky.


At the Prince's House
(Prince has on his robe of state; Edmund enters)

E: My Lord...

G: My Lord*sz*.

E: I'm sorry, sir?

G: My Lord*sz*. There is more than one Lord in the vicinity.

E: (chuckles) Oh, well, yes...

G: Will you please welcome His Grace, The Lord Baldrick!

(Baldrick enters wearing robe and hat of state; Edmund is not at all happy.)

E: You made...Baldrick a Lord?

G: Well, yes. `One who has recently done sterling work, matching the political
   machinations of the evil Pitt' -- good ol' Lord Baldrick.

B: It's alright, Blackadder -- you don't have to curtsy or anything.

E: Sir, might I let loose a short, violent exclamation?

G: Well, why certainly.

E: **DAMN**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Thank you, sir.

G: I say, that's a bit of a strange getup you've got there, isn't it,
   Blackadder?

E: Yes, I'm just off to a fancy dress party -- I'm going as Lady Hamilton's
   pussy. There's just one question, sir. About the four hundred thousand
   to influence the Lords...

G: Ah yes, I gave that to Lord Baldrick.

E: Aaaah! Sir, might I be permitted to take Lord Baldrick downstairs to give
   him some instruction on his Lordly duties?

G: I think that's a splendid idea.

E: (to Baldrick) This way...My Lord... (As he walks behind Baldrick, he lifts
   his robe up on both ends, a la Dracula)


At Baldrick/Blackadder's Quarters

(Edmund is holding Baldrick and thrusting his head against the table.
Sitting on the table is a three-foot wide turnip.)

E: Give me the bloody money, Baldrick, or you're dead!  (stops thumping)

B: `Give me the bloody money, Baldrick, or you're dead, *My Lord*'!

E: (one more thump) Just do it, Baldrick! Otherwise, I shall further ennoble
   you by knighting you rather clumsily with this meat cleaver.

B: I haven't got it.

E: What?

B: I spent it.

E: You spent it? What could *you* possibly spend 400,000 pounds on?

(Baldrick slowly looks toward the turnip, smiling. Edmund finally notices it.)

E: Oh, no... Oh, God, don't tell me...

B: ...my Dream Turnip.

E: Baldrick, how did you manage to find a turnip that cost 400,000 pounds?

B: Well, I had to haggle...

(Edmund takes the turnip and forces it down over Baldrick's head)

E: This is the worst moment of my entire life. I spent my last penny on a
   catskin windcheater, and I've just broken a priceless turnip.

(There's a knock at the door, and some non-English shouting from behind it)

E: ...and now I'm about to be viciously slaughtered by a naked Tunisian sock
   merchant. And all I can say, Baldrick, is this: it's the last time I
   dabble in politics!

(Baldrick shrugs; end credits begin)

     Cast:

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

Mr. Vincent Hanna, his own great great great grandfather
Mr. VINCENT HANNA

Sir Talbot Buxomly, a member of Parliament
Mr. DENIS LILL

Pitt the Younger, the Prime Minister
Mr. SIMON OSBORNE

Ivor Biggun, a candidate
Mr. GEOFF McGIVERN

Pitt the even Younger, a tiny whig
MASTER DOMINIC MARTELLI

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

Blackadder II, Episode 6, Chains

Black Adder II, Episode 6

Chains

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


E: Edmund Blackadder
M: Lord Melchett
Q: Queen Elizabeth I
N: Nursie
B: Baldrick
P: Lord Percy
G(2): German guard(s)
T: Spanish Torturer
L: Prince Ludwig the Indestructible


The Queen's Chamber

E: Get out! Get out, libidinous swine! And take that horse-slut painted
   strumpet with you, where you'll both rot in the filth of your own
   fornication!

Q: ...and what did you say to *him*?

E: Say, Madam? I said nothing. I simply pulled up my tights and jumped out the
   privy window.

Q: Oh, Edmund! You're so naughty!

E: Well, I try, Madam. And ten minutes later, when I've got my breath back,
   I try again...  (sticks his tongue out of his grinning mouth)

M: Perhaps now we can turn to more important matters of state.

Q: Oh, must we?

M: I fear so, Ma'am. It's a tragic case -- my old tutor, Lord Forest. His son
   has been kidnapped, and he begs you to help pay the ransom.

Q: Edmund, what would you say?

E: Well, as you know, Madam, I've had experince of this dreadful situation.
   Only last year my aunt came to me to beg for help in the ransom of my
   Uncle Ozrick.

M: Well, then, you know something of the dreadful pain involved.

E: Indeed I do, and can suggest no better answer than the one I gave to
   her.

Q: Which was?

E: `Get stuffed.'

M: Blackadder, you would jest over a young man's life?

E: For `young man' read `young idiot'. Look, anyone stupid enough to let some
   mustachioed dago come up to them in a corridor, say, `Excuse me Meester,'
   and hit them over the head with a big stick deserves everything they get.
   (leaves)

In the Corridor

B: Oh, hallo, you're in good fooling this morning.

E: Thank you, Baldrick.

B: I heard quite an amusing story myself the other day...

E: Oh, good. (leaves)

(Edmund comes out of the next set of doors and meets a pair of German guards)

G: Excuse me, Meister...

E: Yes, what is it?

(G motions Edmund to G2. Edmund leans over to hear what G2 has to say.
 G2 points to the back of Edmund's head, where G hits Edmund over the
 head with a big stick)

E: I said `What is it?' -- not `Hit me hard on the head wi--' (collapses)


In the Queen's Chamber

Q: You know, Melchy, I've completely changed my mind about that Forest bloke.
   I mean, he's obviously very stupid, but we can't go around punishing
   people for that, can we?

M: Certainly not, Ma'am.

Q: No -- if we went around punishing people for being stupid, Nursie would
   have been in prison all her life.

M: A very piquant observation, Majesty.

Q: So I *will* sign this ransom, but it must be the last. (as she writes the
   order) Absolutely the last. Final. Full stop. Never again. Cross my heart
   and hope to die.

M: Surely not `hope to die', Majesty.

Q: Er, oh, alright, I'll cross that out... Er, here you are. Sorry about the
   smudge.

M: Thank you, Ma'am. (leaves)

In the Corridor

G: Excuse me, Meister...

M: Yes?

(G motions Melchett to G2. Melchett leans to G2. G2 points. G hits.)


In a Prison

(Edmund wakes up; Melchett is with him. They are tied back-to-back.)

E: Oh, God, God, God. What on Earth was I drinking last night? My head feels
   like there's a Frenchman living in it. (looks around) Where am I?

M: (groans) Ooohhhh...

E: Who's there?

M: It is I: Melchett.

E: Melchett! You really ought to get this house of yours cleaned up, you know.
   It's a real mess!

M: This is no time for jokes, Blackadder! We've been kidnapped!

E: Oh, God... How incredibly embarrassing!

M: As private parts to the gods are we! They play with us for their sport!

(insane laughter of Spanish Torturer)

E: (as though he's about to meet someone stupid) Oh, God, who's that?

T: (leans to Melchett, says something in Spanish)

E: Just wait a minute! If anyone is going to be spoken to around here, it's
   going to be me, alright? Tell him, Melchy.

M: Certainly.  (points behind him, to Edmund, as he and Edmund wiggle around
   so Edmund faces T)  Parlo con lui -- no mio (something) -- parlo con lui.

T: Ah, bueno. (looks at Edmund) El Je'fe! (Says same thing he said to
    Melchett)

E: Ah, that's better. (pause) Now, what's he saying?

M: He says he would like a word with you.

E: Uh huh. Anything else?

M: Yes. He says he would like to torture you as well.


Later.  Edmund, in a small box with his head, arms and legs sticking out
(legs shackeled as well), is alone in the prison with T.  T is turning
a key in the box presumably to move spikes into Edmund's body.

E: Right. Now, am I, by any chance, addressing a senior dignitary of the
   Spanish Inquisition?

T: Te gusta, la (??) de la Inquisicion!

E: (not understanding a word)  Good... Because, if I am, I wish to make it
   quite clear that I am prepared to tell you absolutely *anything*.

T: Habla puer(??)

E: No speako dago. I demand to see the British ambassador, *understand*?

T: (winding some more) Necesito silencio para comesa.

E: Oh for God's sake! Look, how can you question me if you don't speak English?

T: No! *Yo* pregunto las questionnes!

E: Alright, let's start with the basics. English is a non-inflected
   Indo-European language derived from dialects of....


In the corridor outside Queen's Chamber

(Queenie and Percy are playing frisbee)

P: (catches, holds the disc up triumphantly) How's that!

Q: Percy, who's Queen?

P: (drops disc) Whoops! Butterfingers!

Q: Ah, so I win again.

P: Yes. Well done, Your Majesty!

(They enter the throne room. Nursie is feeding Baldrick by hand.)

Q: There's definitely been no sign of Edmund.

P: I fear not, Ma'am.

Q: Why (??) he vanished? Simply vanished...

P: Like an old oak table...

Q: *Vanished*, Lord Percy -- not *varnished*.

P: Forgive me, My Lady, but my Uncle Bertram's old oak table completely
   vanished. 'Twas on the night of the great Stepney fire. And on that
   same terrible night, his house and all his other things completely
   vanished too. So did he, in fact. It was a most perplexing mystery.

Q: Lord Percy?

P: Yes?

Q: It's up to you: either you can shut up, or you can have your head cut off.

P: (squints, thinks very long and hard about it) I'll shut up.


In the Prison

(Edmund and Torturer play charades in an attempt to communicate)

T: Bastardo!

E: Baa-taar-do...  Barrister.

T: Bastardo!

E: Embarrassing. You're embarrassing. *I'm* embarrassing.

(T clenches his fist, and curls his left arm underneath his right, and
 points it straight up in a familiar gesture.)

E: Er, er, rogering!

(T makes a very-fat gesture over his abomen.)

E: Er, pregnant!

(T acts like he's cradling a baby, and makes little baby noises.)

E: Baby! Baby!

(T acts like he has tossed the baby.)

E: Bathwater!

(T shakes his head, then holds his ear.)

E: Sounds like... oh! `Bastard'!

T: (excited at Edmund's correct guess) Si'! Si'!! No este terminado. Hijo.
    Hijo!

E: (not knowing that `hijo' is a word, guesses by the sound of it) Donkey.

(T shakes his head, puts his head in his hand.)

T: (holds his hand horzontally above his head) Padre.

E: Big bastard...

T: (lowers the hand to a very short height) Hijo.

E: Little bastard.

T: (walking masculinely, speaks deeply) Padre...

E: Man...

T: (bends his knees as he walks and makes baby-like noises again) Hijo.

E: Boy.  Man, father... Oh! `Son'! I'm a bastard's son.

T: (gets on his hands and knees) Perra! (pants)

E: Thirsty... Thirsty bastard.

(T barks)

E: Thirsty barking bastard. Oh, `dog'! Dog. Right, dog.

(T, on his knees, moves his hands to indicate breasts.)

E: Woman.

(T goes back on his hands and knees.)

E: Dog.

(T does the breast gesture again.)

E: Woman, dog...*bitch*! I'm a bastard son of a bitch!

T: Si'!!! Si'!!! (shakes Edmund's hand)

E: In that case, you are a fornicating babboon.

T: Que?

E: Oh dear. Er, *you*...

T: (points to Edmund) Tu? (sees Edmund is pointing at him, so he points
    at himself) Yo...

E: You, er, fornicating... Yes... I can't really do it in this box...


Later...

T: ...tus testiculos.

E: My, um, ah yes, those, yes...

T: ...sobre un fuego grande.

E: ...over a large...

T: Fuego, fuego. (makes fire motion with his hands, then blows on the tips
    of his fingers)

E: Oh, fire, fire. Ah good, so let's recap. Um...if I admit that I'm in love--

T: (interjects) No! No! (rolls onto his back)

E: Sorry -- head-over-heels in love -- (T makes various motions to indicate
   each thing) with Satan and all his little wizards, then you will remove my
   testicles with a blunt instrument--

T: Una (polan~a?), una polan~a.

E: ...resembling some kind of gardening tool but we can't quite (obscured by
   laughter). Um, and roast them over a large fire.

T: Si', si'.

E: Whereas if I don't admit that I'm in love with Satan and...and...all his...
   his little wizards, (T again is making appropriate gestures for each item)
   you will hold me upside down in a vat of warm marmalade.

T: (holds his hands out, expecting more) ...*y*...

E: *And* remove my testicles with a blunt...oh I see. Well, well, in that case,
   I love Satan.

T: (excited) Ohh ho ho! (produces instrument)

E: Oh, it's a *scythe*...


In the Queen's Chamber

Q: Oh, I don't know, I've looked everywhere.

P: (with a finger to his temple as though he's being psychic)
   Perhaps...they're not...hiding...at all! Perhaps...they've been...
   kidnapped!

Q: Nonsense! ...what Edmund said: `Only real idiots get kidnapped'.

P: (frightened) Do they?! (looks around nervously for kidnappers)


In the Prison

(T is holding his scythe, ready to have a go at Edmund. Prince Ludwig
 enters, shouts `Stop!' and whips T down, who screams a bit and remains
 cowering.)

L: Forgive me, Herr Blackadder. I have been neglecting my duties as a host.
   Please accept my appoloaggies.

E: I accept nothing from a man who imprisons his guests in a commode.

L: I hope this scum (T burbles a bit) has not inconweenienced you.

E: It takes more than a maniac trying to cut off my goolies to inconweenience
   *me*.

L: Good. If he had inconweenienced you, I was going to offer you his tongue.

E: Believe me, sir: if he had inconweeniened me, you would not have a tongue
   with which to make such an offer.

L: Let me assure you, Herr Blackadder: if I no longer had a tongue with which
   to make such an offer, you would no longer have a tongue with which to tell
   me that, if I had inconweenienced you, I would no longer have a tongue with
   which to offer you his tongue.

E: Yes, well, enough of this banter. Who the hell are you, sausage breath?

L: You do not remember me then, Herr Blackadder?

E: I don't believe I had the pleasure.

L: Oh, on the contrary. We have met many times, although you knew me by
   another name. Do you recall a mysterious black marketeer and smuggler
   called Otto with whom you used to dine and plot and play the biscuit game
   at the Old Pizzle in Dover?

E: My God!

L: Yes! I was the waitress.

E: (shocked) I don't believe it! *You*? Big Sally?

L: (falsetto) `Will you have another piece of pie, My Lord?'

E: ...but I went to bed with you, didn't I?

L: For my country, I am willing to make any sacrifice.

E: Yes, but I'm not! I must have been paralytic!

L: Indeed you were, Mr. Floppy...

E: Yes, alright, alright (obscured by laughter). Now, would you mind--

L: (again falsetto) `Such a disappointment for a girl...'

E: Yes, alright, you've had your little joke.

L: `It really doesn't matter -- we'll try again in a few minutes. Have a look
   through these naughty parchments.'

E: Oh, yes, we *are* proud of our comic serving-wench voice, aren't we? Just
   because we can say `Zur' instead of `Sir', (??) sense at all social
   gatherings the tedious little turd who keeps putting on amusing voices.

L: (angered, shouts) Be quiet!

E: What else have you got in your outstandingly inventive repertoire, I
   wonder...  Aaah, a brilliant drunk Glaswegian, no doubt.  An hilarious
   black man: `See you, Jimmy, where am dat watty-melon'. (obscured by
   laughter) I can't wait for your side-splitting poof and that funny little
   croaky one who isn't anyone in particular, but he's such a scream. And
   most of all, I like the one you do all the time, that fatheaded German
   chamberpot standing in front of me.

L: You know, you talk too much, Blackadder. I think it's a case of werbal
   diarrhoea that you are having. I should, perhaps, tell you that I have
   given the Queen only a week to reply to my ransom demand. Unless she
   pays up, you die. Howwibly.

E: She will pay up. And then within a week, you die. Howwibly howwibly.

L: You find yourself amusing, Blackadder.

E: I try not to fly in the face of public opinion.

L: You know, I think, I think that a week from now, you'll be less in the
   mood for being amusing.

E: At least when I *am* in the mood, I *can* be amusing.

L: Then choose your next witticism carefully, Herr Blackadder; it may be
   your last.  Guards, fetch his friend.

Gs: (enter with Melchett) Ein, zwei, ein, zwei...

M: (crying, expecting to be thrown into a very deep pit)
   Oh no, please! (they throw him down) oooohhh! (he lands on the lower
   level, about three feet below, and looks rather surprised)

L: Lord Melchett, we meet again.

M: No, I don't think we've had the pleasure...

L: You do not recognise me, then?

M: No...

L: Let me refresh your memory. You remember when you were in Cornwall; at the
   monastery, there was an old shepherd with whom you used to talk.

M: Good Lord! Dimkins?

L: Yes! I was one of his sheep.

M: One of his sheep?  Not...?

L: Yes!

M: Flossy?

L: Yes!

M: But didn't we...?  (waves his hands in an exchanging fashion)

L: Yes, Lord Melchett! BBBAAAAA!

M: Oh my God!

L: But enough of such pleasant reminiscences, eh? The guard has found an
   interesting document in your clothing.

M: Oh, I shouldn't pay much attention to that if I were you.

L: The Queen says that she will pay only one ransom, `But it must be the
   last. Absolutely the last. Final. Full stop. Never again. Cross my
   heart and hope to be spanked until my bottom goes purple.' She has a
   difficult choice in front of her, has she not?

E: Not really. Bad luck, Melchers. Still... Life -- huh! -- overrated,
   I reckon.

L: Yes, gentlemen. Well, if you excuse me, I have work to do. Evil plots
   don't just make themselves you know. (exits laughing, the guards join
   in)


In the Queen's Chamber

P: (reading a note from Ludwig; oddly, as he reads it, he has an accent like
    Ludwig's)
      Dear Qveen,
      I, evil Prince Ludvig the Indestructible, have your two friends, and you
      must shoose between zem. The ransom is one million crona. Many many
      appoloaggies for the inconweenience.

Q: Oh, my goodness! What a difficult choice!

N: But it isn't the first difficult choice you've ever had to make, my little
   tadpole.

Q: No, that's true.

N: In the old days, it was all difficult choices. Should you have Nursie
   Milk or Moo Cow Milk? Of course, it was always Nursie milk, ha-ha.
   But then left breasty-dumpling or right breasty-dumpling? Of course, it
   was always both breasty-dumplings, ha-ha. Aah, but then which one first?

Q: Shut up, Nursie! Ahh, this is very confusing. Lord Percy, play a while
   to calm my spirits.

P: (holding a lute) Certainly, Ma'am.  (gives the lute to Baldrick)
   Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's man. Ah-ha, you're it! Ring-a-ring o'
   rosey, all fall down.  (appropriate movements accompany all those)

(Queen is speechless; shakes her head.)


In the Prison

M: What say you, Blackadder, I sing a song to keep our spirits up?

E: That all depends on whether you want the slop-bucket over your head or not.

M: Well, perhaps some pleasant word game.

E: Yes, alright. Make a sentence out of the following words: face, sodding,
   your, shut.

M: For God's sake, man! We must do something to relieve our minds of the
   terrible fate that awaits us!!

E: Awaits you, Melchy -- not me. How's my beard looking?

M: Alas! Shall I ever see England more? Her rolling fields, Her swooping
   swallows...

E: ...and Her playful sheep.

(enter Ludwig)

E: Ah, about time, too!

L: Gentlemen, the answer has arrived.

E: Well, thank God; I'm sick of this place. The conditions are just
   disgraceful! Why, it's like a prison in here!

L: I shall read it to you.

E: Ah, typical master criminal -- loves the sound of his own voice...

L: After long and very careful deliberation, the Queen has decided to extend
   the ransom money on....

(cut to Queen writing this very letter)

Q: ...a big party. Just impossible to decide between my two faves, so I've
   decided to keep the cash, have a whizzy-jolly time and try to forget both
   of you. Hope you're not too miffed. Byeeeeee!

(cut to prison)

E: WHAT?!

L: `Hope you're not too miffed. Byeeeeee!' Well, as you can imagine, my
   friends, this makes me very unhappy.

E: (sarcastically) Oh, I am sorry.

L: But if you gentlemen were to tell me a way to, let us say, gain access to
   your queen, I might just be able to commute your deaths to a life sentence.

E: Are you suggesting we betray her?

L: Oh yes.

E: Alright.

M: Blackadder! What are you saying? What of loyalty? honour? self-respect?

E: What of them?

M: Nothing...

L: So you will both play ball?

M & E: Yep.

L: Oh, what joy. See how you collapse before me you great and incorruptible
   English knobs. So proud of your great big stiff upper lips, hmm?

E: Gloating is a sign of insecurity, Ludwig -- shove it. Now, do you want to
   know how to get to the Queen or not?

L: Yes, I thought some kind of disguise. You know, I do a very good Mary,
   Queen of Scots. (turns away, rustles his hair, raises his shoulders and
   turns back to them, speaking in falsetto very thick Scottish dialect
   (actually this voice is not that of the actor, but is a woman's voice))
   `Hoots, mon! Whar's me heid?'


In the Queen's Chamber (Baldrick is eating from a dog dish that Queen holds.)

Q: What sort of party should it be?

P: Oh, fancy dress. I love fancy dress.

Q: Nursie?

N: I think it should be one of those ones where everybody comes with
   nothing on at all.

Q: Shut up, then. (to Percy) I agree with you, Acting Lord Chamberlain.
   If we're really to forget our woes, then we should have as much fun
   as possible. And what can be more fun than a party where people come
   dressed as frogs and rabbits and nuns?

N: ...and bits of wood!

Q: You're not going to come as a bit of wood.

N: Aren't I?

Q: No!

N: Ah. Well, how about a pencil, then? Should I come as a pencil?

Q: Don't be silly, Nursie. You always talk like this and you always end
   up coming as the same thing.

N: Do I?

Q: Yes, you know-- of co-- everybo-- (gives up. addresses Baldrick) Lassie,
   what does Nursie always come to fancy-dress parties dressed as?

B: I thought everybody knew.

Q: Yes -- everybody, apparently, except Nursie.  Tell her.

B: She always comes as a cow.

N: Yes, that's right! A lovely lovely cow with great big lovely udders.
   I swiggle around going `Mmmoooooo! Come to Nursie Cow, you lovely
   little heifers!' (Percy doesn't find this very appealing)
   Oh yes! What fun! Oh, I want to be a cow again, please?

Q: Shut up. (to Percy) Isn't Nursie stupid?

P: She certainly is, Ma'am. (forced laugh)

Q: You see? We're having a good time already! We've completely forgotten about
   those chaps in prison, haven't we?  (spoken in a tone with which -- and she
   looks around like -- no one should dare disagree)

P: (gets a joke in his head; seems rather pleased; puts on a fake curious face)
   What chaps?

all: Pbbbbffffff!!!!!!!


In the Prison

(Guards enter with Ludwig)

Gs: Ein, zwei, ein zwei...

L: My friends, I come to bid you farewell. These guards will eventually
   die of old age, but their sons will, I'm sure, go on attending to your
   needs.

E: Thank you for your concern, but, in fact, we intend to escape.

L: With your information, gentlemen, I intend to bring down your Queen and
   country. The Master of Disguise will become the Master of the World!
   (turns to leave, laughing maniacally)

E: Yes, er, one thing, Ludwig, just before you go...

L: What?

E: Were you ever bullied at school?

L: (a bit defensive) What do you mean?

E: Well, all this ranting and raving about power -- there must be some reason
   for it.

L: Nonsense! No, er, at my school, having dirty hair and spots was a sign of
   maturity!

E: I thought so... and I'll bet your mother made you wear shorts right up to
   your final year!  (the guards look at each other for a moment in reaction)

L: Shut up! Shut up! When I am King of England, no one will ever dare call
   me Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot again!  (the guards again look up a bit
   surprised at this news. Ludwig and guards leave)

E: Touched a nerve there, I think...

M: What good is it going to do us if we're doomed to rot here until we die?

E: Nah, don't worry, I've got a plan.

M: Really?

E: Yes. Now that Ludwig's gone, we should no trouble overcoming the guards.
   Germans are sticklers for efficiency and I've been watching their routine.
   I've selected the moment when they're at their most vulnerable. That is
   when we will attack them.

M: Brilliant! How?

E: That is the most cunning bit... (sticks his tongue out slyly)


Later

(Guards approach)

Gs: (in background) Ein, zwei, ein zwei...

E: Right, now this is it. Don't forget, when they are at their most *vulner-
   able*.

Gs: Ein, zwei...Halt! Jingle the keys: (keys jingle) Open the door!
    (door opens) Greetings to the prisoners: (they take one step in, and
    wave) Guten abend, Englander-scum! March to the table: Ein
    zwei, ein zwei, ein zwei...Halt! Food on the table: ein zwei! (they
    put down a loaf of bread and a sausage). Spit on the food: ein zwei!
    Insulting further gestures to the prisoners: ein zwei, ein zwei! (they
    do pelvic thrusts)

E: Now! (E & M hit their groins)

Gs: OOOOHHH!

E: (shaking out his hand) Trust me to get the hard one! (They head for the
   stairs. Edmund grabs Melchett and throws him off the stairs, so he can
   leave first.)


In the Queen's Chamber

Q: (dressed as Henry VIII, complete with beard; speaks as deeply as she can)
   Yo ho ho! Off with their heads!

P: Ma'am, it is brilliant! Your father is born again!

Q: Bally well hope not, or else I won't be Queen anymore! Er, yours is a
   pretty good, too. What is it?

P: It's nothing, Ma'am -- just a mere trifle I threw together.

Q: Doesn't look much like a trifle. Looks more like a fruit salad to me.

P: I see Nursie's really excelled herself.

N: MMMMMOOOOOOOOOO!

Q: Yes, she has. (looks down at Baldrick, who has a pencil up each nostril)
   I'm not sure about this, though.  What are you meant to be?

B: A pencil case.

Q: (ecstatically) Yes! Oh, it's just like parties I had when I was tiny.
   We had tea and cakes and venison, and then a trip with a couple of little
   friends to the executions!

P: How sweet.

Q: ...if I *wanted* my little friends executed, that is. Oh, how I do wish
   Edmund could be here. He always loved parties, and always always wore
   very very tight tights.

P: (thinking the same dumb joke can work twice)  Edmund who?

(Edmund enters)

E: Edmund Blackadder!

Q: Oh!

E: Majesty...

Q: (removing her beard) Oh, Edmund! But...

E: Did you ever know me to miss a party?

Q: (excited, then serious) But what about Lord Melchett?

E: Yes... Unfortunately, Ma'am, he made it too.

(Melchett enters)

P: Rapture! Joy beyond measure! Bliss (kisses her hand) which cannot
   be counted on one's fingers!

E: (softly) Bbaaaaa...

Q: Sorry, Edmund?

E: Nothing...

Q: Yes, um, unfortunately, apart from my nose getting a little prettier,
   nothing much has changed around here. (motions to Baldrick, who is gnawing
   on a large bone) Your animal still isn't house-trained, Percy's still
   unemployed, and Nursie's one stick short of a bundle.

N: MMMMOOOOOOOOO!

E: Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. (takes his sword out and stabs
   the cow)

Q: Nursie! (to Edmund) You killed Nursie! (downplayed) Oh, that's horrid...
   (shouts again) Guards! Guards! Take him away and execute him! He's killed
   Nursie!

N: (entering from the hall, wearing a multi-uddered, horrible cow costume;
   not wearing the head) Can anyone help me with my udders?

Q: Nursie?

N: Yes?

E: Yes, and may I introduce you to our erstwhile captor, Prince Ludwig
   the Indestructible! (removes the cow head from Ludwig in the good cow
   costume)

(all gasp)

L: Ah, Queen Elizabeth, we meet again.

Q: Er, no, I don't think so, actually.

L: Yes -- you remember when you were young; your father used to take you
   riding on a magnificent grey pony that you used to kiss and fondle
   in the stable yard. (Queen is embarrassed and motions for him to pass
   that bit.)  *I*, I was the tall and attractive German stable lad who
   held him.

Q: No!

L: Yes!

Q: You?

L: Uh-huh.

Q: Shorty-Greasy-Spot-Spot??

L: (stands, shouts) No! No, no, no! You will -- all of you -- regret the day
   that you have mocked my complexion. (rushes to the hallway)
   I shall return and vreak my rewenghee! (laughs maniacally, sets about
   opening the outer doors)

E: No -- you will die and be buried. (Edmund throws a large knife into the
   hallway. There is a thunk, and a brief scream from Ludwig.)

all: Hurray!

E: (calmly) ...strange man.

Q: But how did you know it was him?

E: This was the information with which we bought our lives. We told him
   that, if the Queen was having a party, Nursie always goes as a cow.
   From that moment, he was doomed. All we had to do was escape, return,
   and kill the cow.

Q: How could you be sure it was not Nursie?

E: Because, My Lady, Ludwig was a master of disguise, whereas Nursie is a
   sad, insane old woman with a udder fixation. All we had to do was kill
   the one that *looked like* the cow. That was the mistake I knew that
   Ludwig would make. His disguise was too good!

Q: Gosh, Edmund! How brilliant! Welcome home.

E: Well, I must say, Ma'am, it's good to be back.

P: Welcome, Edmund. Did you...miss me?

E: I certainly did. Many was the time, Percy, I said to myself, `I wish Percy
   was here--

(Percy embraces Edmund)

E: `...being tortured instead of me.'

P: Gah, we have missed your wit!

B: Did you miss me, My Lord?

E: Ermmm... `Baldrick', is it?

B: That's right.

E: No, not really.

Q: And me... did you miss me, Edmund?

E: Madam, life without you was like...a broken pencil.

Q: (confused) Explain...?

E: Pointless.


 Credits/Theme Song

(during this ending credit, Edmund finally catches the balladeer,
 and drowns him in the fountain)


Edmund Blackadder               Beware all ye who lust for fame
 ROWAN ATKINSON                 The path of life is most uncertain
                                Prince Ludwig thought he'd won the game
Lord Percy                      But now the kraut's gone for a burton
 TIM McINNERNY
                                Blackadder! Blackadder!
Baldrick                        He beat the hun by luck
 TONY ROBINSON                  Blackadder! Blackadder!
                                He's smarter than a duck
Queen Elizabeth I
 MIRANDA RICHARDSON             Lord Melchett! Lord Melchett!
                                Intelligent and deep
Lord Melchett                   Lord Melchett! Lord Melchett!
 STEPHEN FRY                    A shame about the sheep

Nursie
 PATSY BYRNE

Prince Ludwig
 HUGH LAURIE

Torturer
 MAX HARVEY

1st Guard
 MARK ARDEN

2nd Guard
 LEE CORNES


Epilogue............

A low-toned bell rings. We see Percy, Edmund, Queen, Nursie, Baldrick,
and Melchett. All are dead with slit throats.

Prince Ludwig is disguised as Queen, and is holding a knife.
(Actually using the actress with the actor's voice dubbed in).

L: (laughs) Now *this* is a disguise I'm *really* going to
   enjoy!  If I can just get the voice right...


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