Category Archives: Blackadder Series 3

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 6 – Duel and Duality Full Script

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 6 is called Duel and Duality. With Stephen Fry acting as the Duke of Wellington, this is a loud, brash, and hilarious episode, with some memorable one-liners and quotes. Check out the full script below.

The full script for Blackadder series 3 episode 6 duel and duality

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 6 – Duel and Duality Full Script

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.

Great Blackadder quote from Series 3 Episode 6 Duel and Duality

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.

Blackadder Quote from Series 3 Episode 6 Duel and Duality

(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.

dead frenchmen

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.

Og God, fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more. Blackadder quote from Duel and Duality

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.

A man may fight for many things - Blackadder quotes

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)

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 5 – Amy and Amiability Full Script

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 5 is called Amy and Amiability. In this episode, Blackadder comes close to being shot by a transvestite on an unrealistic grassy knoll. Here is the full script for this great episode of Blackadder.

Blackadder series 3 episode 5 amy and amiability

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 5 – Amy and Amiability Full Script

 

E: Edmund Blackadder
B: Baldrick
PR: Prince Regent George
A: Miss Amy Hardwood
H: Mr. Hardwood
SC: Sally Cheapside
DC: The Duke of Cheapside
S: The Shadow
MM: Mrs. Miggins

The Palace Kitchens
——————-

(Baldrick is plucking a goose. Blackadder is sitting at the kitchen
table.)

E: Oh God! Bills, bills, bills. One is born, one runs up bills, one dies!
And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. A butler’s uniform and a
slightly effeminate hairdo! Honestly Baldrick, I sometimes feel like a
pelican – whichever way I turn, I’ve still got an enormous bill in
front of me. Pass the biscuit barrel. (Baldrick does so) Let’s see
what’s in the kitty shall we? (shakes out a few coins) Ninepence! Oh
God, what are we going to do?

B: Don’t worry Mr B., I have a cunning plan to solve the problem.

E: Yes Baldrick, let us not forget that you tried to solve the problem
of your mother’s low ceiling by cutting off her head.

B: But this is a really good one. You become a dashing highwayman, then
you can pay all your bills and, on top of that, everyone’ll want to
sleep with you.

E: Baldrick, I could become a prostitute and pay my bills, then
everyone would want to sleep with me – but I do consider certain
professions beneath me. But besides which, I fail to see why a common
thief should be idolised, just because he has a horse between his legs.

B: My favourite’s the Shadow. (Admiringly) What a man! They say he’s
half-way to being the new Robin Hood.

E: Why only half-way?

B: Well he steals from the rich, but he hasn’t got round to giving it
to the poor yet. Look! I’ve got a poster of him.

(Baldrick holds up a poster which reads “Wanted for Hanging, The Shadow.
Reward…”)

E: Baldrick, I have no desire to get hung for wearing a silly hat. If I
want to get rich quick, all I have to do is go upstairs and ask Prince
Fathead for a rise.

(The Prince rings.)

E: Oop! The bank’s open!

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

E: Good morning sir. May I say how *immensely* rich you’re looking?
Now, was there anything you wanted? Anything at all? Absolutely
anything?

PR: Well yes, old fellow, I was wondering if you could possibly lend me
a bit of cash.

E: But of course sir. I- cash?

PR: Yes, I’m rotten stinking stoning stinking broke!

E: But sir, what about the five thousand pounds that Parliament voted
you only last week to drink yourself to death with?

PR: All gone I’m afraid. You see, I’ve discovered this terrifically fun
new game. It’s called “cards”. What happens is, you sit round the
table with your friends, and you deal out five “cards” each, and then
the object of the game is to give away all your money as quickly as
possible. Do you know it?

E: Vaguely sir, yes.

PR: All the chaps say I’m terrific at it.

E: I seem to remember I was very bad at it. I always seemed to end up
with more money than I started with.

PR: Yes, well, it’s all down to practice. I’m a natural apparently. The
only drawback, of course, is that it’s pretty damned expensive. So,
basically, I was wondering if you could lend me a couple of hundred.

E: I’m afraid that’s impossible sir. I’m as poor as a church mouse
that’s just had an enormous tax bill on the very day his wife ran off
with another mouse, taking all the cheese.

Blackadder quote poor as a church mouse

PR: Well what am I going to do?

E: Yes, it’s a difficult one.

PR: Hmm.

E: Let’s see now. You can’t borrow money, you’re not going to inherit
any money and obviously you can’t earn money. Sir, sir, drastic
situations call for drastic measures. If you can’t make money, you’ll
have to marry it.

PR: Marry? Never! I’m a gay bachelor, Blackadder. I’m a roarer, a
rogerer, a gorger and a puker! I can’t marry, I’m young, I’m firm
buttocked, I’m…

E: Broke?

PR: Well, yes, I suppose so.

E: And don’t forget, sir, that the modern Church smiles on roaring and
gorging within wedlock, and indeed rogering is keenly encouraged.

PR: And the puking?

E: Mmm, I believe still very much down to the conscience of the
individual church-goer.

PR: Well yes, tally-ho then Blackadder. Yes, you fix it up. You know
the kind of girls I like, they’ve got to be lovers, laughers, dancers…

E: And bonkers!

PR: That goes without saying!

The Kitchens
————

(Blackadder is leafing through a book, while in the background Baldrick is
pulling the giblets out of his bird.)

E: Oh God!

B: Something wrong, Mr B.?

E: I can’t find a single person suitable to marry the prince.

B: Oh please keep trying. I love a royal wedding. The excitement, the
crowds, the souvenir mugs, the worrying about whether the bride’s
lost weight.

E: Unlikely with this lot I’m afraid. If the prince had stipulated
“must weigh a quarter of a ton” we’d be laughing. Of the 262
princesses in Europe, 165 are over 80, they’re out, 47 are under 10,
they’re out, and 39 are mad.

B: Well they sound ideal.

E: Well they would be if they hadn’t all got married last week in
Munich to the same horse. Which leaves us with two.

B: And what about them?

E: Well, there’s Grand Duchess Sophia of Turin. We’ll never get her to
marry him.

B: Why not?

E: Because she’s *met* him.

B: Which leaves?

E: Caroline of Brunswick as the only available princess in Europe.

B: And what’s wrong with her?

E: “Get more coffee! It’s horrid! Change it! Take me roughly from
behind! No, not like that, like this! Trousers off! Tackle out! Walk
the dog! Where’s my presents?”

B: (flustered) All right! Which one do you want me to do first?

E: No, that’s what Caroline’s like. She is famous for having the worst
personality in Germany. And as you can imagine, that’s up against some
pretty stiff competition.

B: So you’re stuck then.

E: Yes, I’m afraid I am. Unless, oh unless! Pass me the paper Baldrick
quick. (he opens the paper) Baldrick, why has half the front page been
cut out?

B: I don’t know.

E: You do know, don’t you?

B: Yes.

E: You’ve been cutting out the cuttings about the elusive Shadow to put
in your highwayman’s scrapbook haven’t you?

B: Oh, I can’t help it Mr B. His life is so dark and shadowy and full
of fear and trepidation.

E: So is going to the toilet in the middle of the night, but you don’t
keep a scrapbook on it.

B: (surprised) I do.

E: Let’s see. Now let’s see, society pages. You see, it needn’t
necessarily be a princess. All the Prince wants is someone pretty and
rich.

B: Oh dear, that rules me out then.

E: Now, let me see. “Beau Brummel in purple pants probe.” “King talks
to tree. Phew what a loony!” God, the Times has really gone downhill
recently hasn’t it! Aha. Listen to this, listen to this: “Mysterious
Northern beauty, Miss Amy Hardwood, comes to London and spends
flipping great wadges of cash!” That’s our baby!

The Prince’s Bedroom
——————–

(Blackadder is brushing down the Prince’s jacket.)

PR: Honestly Blackadder, I don’t know why I’m bothering to get dressed.
As soon as I get to the Naughty Hellfire Club I’ll be debagged and
radished for non-payment of debts.

E: Radished, sir?

PR: Yes, they pull your breeches down and push a large radish right up
your-

E: Yes, yes, yes, all right. There’s no need to hammer it home.

PR: Well as a matter of fact they do often have to-

E: No, no! No! Your em, your money worries are, are, are over sir.

PR: Well hoorah for that!

E: I have found you a bride. Her name is Amy, daughter of the noted
industrialist, Mr Hardwood.

PR: Oh dammit Blackadder, you know I loathe industrialists. Sad,
balding, little proles in their “damn your eyes” whiskers. All puffed
up just because they know where to put the legs on a a pair of
trousers.

E: Eh, believe me, these people are the future. This man probably owns
half of Lancashire. His family’s got more mills than, than you’ve got
brain cells.

PR: How many mills?

E: Seven sir.

PR: Quite a lot of mills then.

E: Yes. He has patented a machine called “The Ravelling Nancy”.

PR: Mmm, what does it do?

E: It ravels cotton sir.

PR: What for?

E: That I cannot say sir. I am one of these people who are quite happy
to wear cotton, but have no idea how it works. She is also a beauty,
sir.

PR: Well if she’s gonna be my bird, she’d better be! Right, so what’s
the plan?

E: Well I thought I could take her a short note expressing your
honourable intentions.

PR: Yes, yes, I think so too. All right then, well take this down. Eh,
“From His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales to Miss Amy Hardwood.
Tally-ho my fine saucy young trollop! Your luck’s in! Trip along here
with all your cash, and some naughty night attire, and you’ll be
staring at my bedroom ceiling from now till Christmas, you lucky tart!
Yours with the deepest respect etc, signed George. PS Woof woof!”
Well, what do you think?

E: It’s very *moving* sir. Would you mind if I change just one tiny
aspect of it?

PR: Which one?

E: The words.

PR: Oh yes, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll leave the details to you Blackadder. Just
make sure she knows I’m all man… with a bit of animal thrown in.
Rrrrgh!

E: Certainly sir. (Scores out the Prince’s letter)

The Home of Amy Hardwood
————————

E: From his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to Miss Amy Hardwood:-
“The upturned tilt of you tiny wee nosy, smells as sweet as a great
big posy.” Fanciful stuff of course madam, but, but from the heart.

A: He says my nosy is tiny ?

E: And wee, madam.

A: Well he must be an awful clever clogs, because you see, my nosy is
tiny, and so wee, that I sometimes think the pixies gave it to me!

E: He continues. “Oh Lady Amy, queen of all your sex.” I apologise for
the word, madam, but Prince George is a man of passion.

A: Oh, don’t worry, I can get pretty cross myself sometimes. Tell me
Mr. Blackadder, I’ve heard a teensy rumour that the Prince has the
manners of a boy cow’s dingle dangle. What do you have to say to that?

E: Oh, that is a lie madam. Prince George is shy and just pretends to
be bluff and crass and unbelievably thick and gittish, whilst deep
down he is a soft little marshmallowy, pigletty type of creature.

A: Oh I’m so glad, because you see, I’m a delicate tiny thing myself,
weak and silly and like a little fluffy rabbit. So I could never marry
a horrible heffalump, or I might get squished. Tell me, when can I
meet the lovely Prince?

E: (surprised) You want to meet him?

A: Well if we’re going to get married I think I probably ought to. I
know! Tell him to come and serenade me tonight. I’ll be on my balcony
in my jim-jams.

E: Certainly madam.

(Mr Hardwood enters.)

H: Ay up! Who’s this big girl’s blouse then ?

A: Father, this is Mr. Blackadder, he’s come a-wooing from the Prince.

E: You have a beautiful and charming daughter, sir.

H: Indeed I do. I love her more than any pig, and that’s saying summat!

E: It certainly is.

H: And let me tell you, I’d no more place her in the hands of an
unworthy man than I’d place my John Thomas in the hands of a lunatic
with a pair of scissors.

E: An attitude that does you credit sir.

H: I’d rather take off all my clothes and paint my bottom blue than
give her to a man who didn’t love her!

E: What self-respecting father could do more ?

H: On the other hand, if he’s a prince, he can have her for ten bob and
a pickled egg.

E: I can see where your daughter gets her ready wit, sir.

H: I thank you.

E: Although where she gets her good looks and charm is perhaps more of
a mystery.

H: No one ever made money out of good looks and charm.

E: You obviously haven’t met Lady Hamilton, sir. (bows slightly and
leaves)

The Kitchens
————

(Baldrick is forcing stuffing into his goose.)

E: I tell you Baldrick, I’m not looking forward to this evening. Trying
to serenade a light fluffy bunny of a girl in the company of an
arrogant half German yob with a mad dad.

B: Well, he is the Prince of Wales.

E: Have you ever been to Wales, Baldrick?

B: No, but I’ve often thought I’d like to.

E: Well don’t, it’s a ghastly place. Huge gangs of tough sinewy men
roam the valleys terrifying people with their close harmony singing.
You need half a pint of phlegm in your throat just to pronounce the
placenames. Never ask for directions in Wales Baldrick, you’ll be
washing spit out of your hair for a fortnight.

B: So, eh, being Prince of it isn’t considered a plus? (hammers a large
orange into the goose)

E: I fear not, no. But the crucial thing is that they must never be
left alone together before the marriage.

B: But isn’t that a bit unfair on her?

E: Well it’s not exactly fair on him either. The girl is wetter than a
haddock’s bathing costume. But you know Baldrick, the world isn’t
fair. If it was, things like this wouldn’t happen would they? (hits
Baldrick around the back of the head)

The girl is wetter than a haddock's bathing costume

Under Amy’s Balcony
——————-

(The Prince and Blackadder are hiding behind some bushes. They speak in
whispers.)

PR: All right, so what’s the plan? Shin up the drain and ask her if
she’ll take delivery of your consignment of German sausage?

E: No sir, as we rehearsed, poetry first, sausage later.

PR: Right. So what do you think? “Harold the Horny Hunter” should do
the trick.

E: Just remind me of it, sir?

PR: (loudly) “Harold the Horny hunter, had an enormous horn…”

E: Shh yes yes. It is absolutely excellent sir, however, might I
suggest an alternative? (hands the Prince a poem)

PR: “Lovely little dumpling, how in love I am. Let me be your
shepardkins, you can be my lamb.” Well, I think we’ll be very lucky if
she doesn’t just come out onto the balcony and vomit over us, but
still, let’s give it a whirl.

E: Just stand right here sir. Right. Call for her romantically.

PR: Right. (shouts) Oy! Come on out here, you rollicking trolloping
sauce bottle!

A: George?

PR: Woof woof!

(Amy appears on the balcony. Blackadder grabs the Prince, covering his mouth.)

A: Is that you?

E: Y-y-yes, yes ’tis I, your gorgeous little love bundle.

A: Oh George, I think you must be the snuggly wuggliest lambkin in the
whole of Toyland.

PR: Yuch! (Blackadder silences him again)

A: What was that?

E: Am, em. Nothing, there was just a little fly in my throaty. Yuch!
Yuchh!

A: Do you want a hanky-wanky to gob the phlegmy wemmy woo into? (she
leans over the balcony, pulling a handkerchief from the top of her
dress)

PR: Phwoah! Crikey!

A: Oh, what was that? Is there someone down there with you?

E: No, no, no, it was just the wind whistling through the trees and
making a noise that sounded like “phwoaaaah.. crikeeeeee”.

A: Oh joy! Then come Prince Cuddlykitten, climb up my ivy.

PR: Sausage time! (strides forward)

A: There is someone down there with you!

E: Oh my God, yes, yes, so there is, a filthy intruder spying on our love.

A: Oh hit him George, hit him!

E: Very well. (whispers to the Prince) Would you mind screaming, Your
Highness. (loudly) Take that. (punches him in the face) And that!
(knees him in the groin) And that! (hits his back; the Prince falls to
the ground)

A: Oh, oh, oh you’re so brave! And I’m so worn out with all the
excitement that I’d better go sleepy-bo-bos, otherwise I’ll be all
cross in the morning. Nighty-night Georgy Porgy!

E: Nighty-wighty Amy-wamy. (she vanishes; to the Prince) I think it
worked, sir. In the morning I shall go in and ask her father; you go
out and start spending his money. I can’t stand meanness when it comes
to wedding presents. And well done sir, you were brilliant.

PR: Was I?

E: Yes sir.

PR: But I’m in agony!

E: Well, that’s love for you.

The Home of Amy Hardwood
————————

E: Sir, I come as emissary of the Prince of Wales with the most
splendid news. He wants your daughter Amy for his wife.

H: Well his wife can’t have her! Outrageous, sir, to come here with
such a suggestion! (stands up angrily) Why, sir, or I shall take off
my belt and by thunder me trousers will fall down!

E: No sir. Sir, you misunderstand. He wants to marry your lovely
daughter.

H: Ah, ah. (falls back into his chair, amazed) Can it be possibly true?
Surely love has never crossed such boundaries of class? (clutches
Amy’s hand)

A: But what about you and Mum?

H: Well yes, yes, I grant thee when I first met her I was the farmer’s
son and she was just the lass who ate the dung, but that was an
exception.

A: And Aunty Dot and Uncle Ted.

H: Yes, yes alright, he was a pig poker and she was the Duchess of
Argyle, but-

A: And Aunty Ruth and Uncle Isiah, she was a milkmaid and he was-

H: The Pope! Yes, yes, all right. Don’t argue. Suffice it to say if you
marry we need never be poor or hungry again. Sir, we accept.

E: Good. So obviously you’ll be wanting an enormous cer-e-mon-y- what
did you say?

H: Well obviously, eh, now we’re marrying quality, we’ll never be poor
or hungry again.

E: Meaning that you’re poor and hungry at the moment?

H: (with feeling) Oh yes! We’ve been living off lard butties for five
years now. I’m so poor I use my underpants for drying dishes.

E: So you’re skint?

H: Aye.

E: Well in that case, the wedding’s off. Good day.

A: Oh but what about Georgy’s lovey-wovey poems that won my
hearty-wearty?

E: All writteny witteny by mewee I’m afraidy-waidy. Goodbye.

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

E: Sir, you know I told you to go out and spend a lot of money on
wedding presents, well appar-

PR: (sitting amongst a huge collection of glittering objects) Yes?

E: Nothing.

The Kitchens
————

(Blackadder enters, putting on a large black cape.)

E: Crisis Baldrick, crisis! No marriage, no money, more bills! For the
first time in my life I’ve decided to follow a suggestion of yours.
Saddle Prince George’s horse.

B: Oh sir, you’re not going to become a highwayman, are you?

E: No, I’m auditioning for the part of Arnold the Bat in Sheridon’s new
comedy.

B: Oh, that’s all right then.

E: Baldrick, have you no idea what irony is?

B: Yeah, it’s like goldy and bronzy, only it’s made of iron.

E: Never mind, never mind, just saddle the Prince’s horse.

B: That’ll be difficult, he wrapped it round that gas lamp in the
Strand last night.

E: Well saddle my horse then.

B: What d’you think you’ve been eating for the last two months?

E: Well go out into the street and hire me a horse.

B: Hire you a horse? For ninepence? On Jewish New Year in the rain? A
bare fortnight after the dreaded horse plague of old London Town? With
the blacksmith’s strike in its fifteenth week and the Dorset horse
fetishists fair tomorrow?

E: Right, well get this on then. (hands Baldrick a bridle and bit) It
looks as though you could do with the exercise.

Robbing the Cheapside Coach
—————————

SC: Honestly Papa. Ever since Mother died you’ve tried to stop me
growing up. I’m not a little girl, I’m a grown woman. In fact I might
as well tell you now Papa: I’m pregnant, and I’m an opium fiend, and
I’m in love with a poet called Shelley who’s a famous whoopsy, and
Mother didn’t die, I killed her!

DC: Oh. (cheerily) Well, never mind.

E: (off-screen) Stand and deliver! (the coach starts to pull up)

DC: Oh no! Oh no no no no no, disaster! It’s the Shadow. We’re doomed,
doomed!

E: (draws up outside the window) Ah, good evening Duke, and the lovely
Miss Cheapside. Your cash bags please. (the Duke hands him a bag of
money) There we are.

DC: You’ll never get away with this, you scoundrel, you’ll be caught
and damn well hung!

SC: (to camera) I think he looks pretty well-

E: Madam, please, no jests about me looking pretty well hung already,
we have no time.

SC: Pity.

E: Now sir, turn out your pockets.

DC: Never sir. A man’s pockets are his own private kingdom. I’ll
protect them with my life!

E: Oh I see, you’ve got something embarrassing in there have you?
Perhaps a particularly repulsive handkerchief, hmm? One of those
fellows who has a big blow and then doesn’t change it for a week?
Let’s have a look shall we? (takes the handkerchief and pulls out a
jewel) Aha!

SC: Highwayman, I also have a jewel. I fear however that I have placed
it here, beneath my petticoats, for protection.

E: Well in that case madam, I think I’ll leave it. I’m not sure I fancy
the idea of a jewel that’s been in someone’s pants. A single kiss of
those soft lips is all I require.

DC: Never sir! A man’s soft lips are his own private kingdom. I shall
defend them with my life.

E: I’m not talking to you, Grandad.

SC: (kisses him long and hard) Oh, I’m overcome. Take me with you to
live the life of the wild rogue, cuddling under haystacks and making
love in the branches of tall trees!

E: Madam, sadly I must decline. I fear my horse would collapse with you
on top of him as well as me!

B: (appears next to Blackadder, wearing his harness) I could try!

E: No Quicksilver, you couldn’t.

B: But that’s not fair then. I’ve had you on my back for ten miles and
I haven’t even got a kiss out of it.

E: Oh alright, very well then. (kisses Baldrick) All fair now?

B: Not really, no.

E: Teh, no pleasing some horses. Hi-ho Quicksilver.

B: Neiighh!

SC: (accusingly) Papa, you did nothing to defend my honour.

DC: Oh shut your face, you pregnant junky fag-hag!

A Grassy Knoll in the Forest
—————————-

E: Well Baldrick, a good night’s work I think. It’s time to divide the
loot, and I think it’s only fair that we should share it equally.

B: Which I suppose is highwayman’s talk for you get the cash, I get the
snotty hanky.

E: No, no. No, we did this robbery together, so you get half the cash.
(hands him a money-bag)

B: Oh, thank you Mr B.

E: This robbery, on the other hand, I’m doing alone. (holds his pistol
to Baldrick’s head) Hand it over, your money or your life! (Baldrick
complies) You see? All fair and above board.

B: Fair enough. As long as I haven’t been cheated, I don’t mind.

S: Hands up! I am the Shadow and I never miss.

E: Oh no.

S: You, the one that looks like a pig.

E: He’s talking to you Baldrick.

S: Skedaddle. (Shoots at Baldrick’s feet; Baldrick runs away) So who
have we here? (takes off Blackadder’s cap) Well, a well set up fellow
indeed. Sir, a kiss.

E: Sorry, I’m not sure I heard that correctly.

SH: Oh dear, maybe your ears need unblocking. (holds his gun to
Blackadder’s head)

E: Oh I see, a kiss, oh of course, of course, of course, and then
perhaps a little light supper, some dancing, who, who knows where it
might lead?

(The Shadow wraps his cloak around Blackadder, kisses him, and then sweeps
off his cap revealing long golden hair – it is Amy Hardwood.)

E: Good lord! It’s you!

A: (deep Shadow voice) Of course.

E: But your voice, it’s-

A: (normal voice) Clever, isn’t it?

E: Does your father know you’re out?

A: He had to go.

E: You mean he’s dead?

A: Yes, dead as that squirrel!

E: Which squirrel? (she shoots a squirrel, which falls with an “eep”
and a thud) Oh, that squirrel. Of course, you killed him for ruining
your chances of marrying Prince George.

A: Huh, I despise the Prince. Don’t you know it’s you I want? I want a
real man. A man who can sew on a button. A man who knows where the
towels are kept. And yes, I crave your fabulous sinewy body.

E: Well, you’re only human.

A: Here’s the plan, brown eyes. You rob the Prince of everything he’s
got, right down to the clothes he’s standing in. I’ll get my stash and
meet you here and then we’ll run away to the West Indies.

E: Well I don’t know I’ll have to think about it. (pause) I’ve thought
about it, it’s a brilliant plan. I’ll see you here tomorrow.

(Amy shoots another squirrel – “eep”, thud.)

The Kitchens
————

E: (finishing loading up a barrow of valuables) Right, I’m off.

B: Oh sir, but what about the danger? Look, the reward is going up day
by day. (holds up a poster, “Reward 5000 pounds”)

E: Pah! I laugh in the face of danger. I drop ice cubes down the vest
of fear. Things couldn’t be better Baldrick. She’ll get me abroad and
make me rich, then I’ll probably drop her and get two hundred
concubines to share my bed.

ha - i laugh at danger and drop icecubes down the vest of fear

B: Won’t they rather prickly?

E: Concubines Baldrick, not porcupines.

B: Oh. I still can’t believe you’re leaving me behind.

E: Oh, don’t you worry. When we’re established on our plantation in
Barbados, I’ll send for you. No more sad little London for you
Balders, from now on you will stand out in life as an individual.

B: Will I?

E: Well of course you will, all the other slaves will be black.

(Blackadder starts to wheel out his barrow; Mrs. Miggins rushes in.)

MM: Oh! Mr Blackadder, oh, what’s all this I hear about you buying a
bathing costume and forty gallons of coconut oil? Are you going abroad
then sir?

E: Yes, I’m off.

MM: Oh sir, what a tragic end to all my dreams. And I’d always hoped that
you’d settle down and marry me and that together we might await the
slither of tiny Adders. (she sobs against Blackadder’s chest)

E: Mrs M., if we were the last three humans on Earth, I’d be trying to
start a family with Baldrick!

(Mrs. Miggins screams and cries.)

On a Grassy Knoll
—————–

E: Well, here I am, all packed and ready to go.

A: Oh darling, I’m so pleased to see you, and I’ve got a little surprise
for you. Close your eyes and open your mouth.

E: (does so) Mmmm.

A: (points her pistol in Blackadder’s mouth) Ha, ha. Hand over the loot,
goat brains!

Blackadder series 3 episode 5 amy and amiability full script

E: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. I, I always said the bedrock of a good
relationship was being able to laugh together. Good, well done. So,
which way to Barbados?

A: You’re not going to Barbados. Get away from the cart, Mr Slimey, or
I’ll fill you so full of lead we could sharpen your head and call you
a pencil.

E: This is turning into a really rotten evening.

A: Yes, well you better make the most of it, because it’s your last.
And it’s a pity, because it’s usually against my principles to shoot
dumb animals.

E: Except squirrels?

A: Yes! Bastards! I hate them with their long tails and their stupid
twitchy noses. (shoots two squirrels, “eep”, “eep”) I shall return at
midnight to collect the loot, when I’ll fill you so full of holes I
could market you as a new English cheese! (Shadow voice) Ha ha ha ha
ha!

E: Oh God! What a way to die! Shot by a transvestite on an unrealistic
grassy knoll!

(Baldrick wanders up.)

B: Morning Mr B.

E: Bal- Baldrick? Baldrick! Thank you for introducing me to a genuinely
new experience.

B: What experience is that?

E: Being pleased to see you! Now what are you doing here, you revolting
animal?

B: I’ve come for the Shadow’s autograph. You know I’m a great fan of
the Shadow’s.

E: Yes, yes, just untie me Baldrick, come on.

B: What, has he gone? Oh what a pity, I wanted him to autograph my new
poster. Look, his reward has gone up to ten thousand pound.

E: Good lord, ten thousand pounds.

B: Yep.

E: That gives me an idea. Baldrick, take this cartload of loot back to
the palace and meet me back here at midnight, with ten soldiers, a
restless lynch mob and a small portable gallows.

The Prince’s Bedroom
——————–

(Blackadder enters with the Prince’s breakfast tray.)

PR: Aha, brekkers! I could eat fourteen trays of it this morning and
still have room for a dolphin on toast!

E: Any particular reason for this gluttonous levity sir?

PR: Well, what do you think Blackadder, I’m in love! I’m in love, I’m
in love, I’m in love. Oh Amy, bless all ten of your tiny little
pinkies. Oh, let’s see what’s in the paper. (reads) Oh my God, she’s
been arrested and hanged!

E: (casually) Oh really?

PR: It turns out she was a highwayman!

E: Teh, these modern girls.

PR: Apparently someone tipped off the authorities and collected the ten
thousand pound reward. What a greasy sneak. Oh, if only I could get my
hands on him.

E: Teh, you can’t trust anyone these days sir.

PR: It says here that she had an accomplice.

(Alarmed, Blackadder drops the breakfast tray.)

PR: But they don’t know who it was.

(The tray flies back up unto Blackadder’s hands.)

PR: Amy, Amy, Amy, I shall never forget you, never ever, ever ever!
(sobs into his pillow) Right, what’s for breakfast?

E: Kedgeree, sir.

PR: Great. Actually, come to think of it Blackadder, I didn’t need to
get married anyway. I’ve got pots of money.

E: Really?

PR: Mmm. The most extraordinary thing happened. I was a bit peckish
during the night, so I nipped downstairs to the biscuit barrel.

E: (worried) The biscuit barrel?

PR: And do you know what I found inside? (Blackadder nods despairingly)
Ten thousand pounds that I never knew I had! I’ve got so much money
now I don’t know what to do with it!

E: How about a game of cards sir?

PR: Excellent idea!

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 4 – Sense and Senility Full Script

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 4 is called Sense and Senility. Enormous trousers and an heroic stance are needed, and don’t mention Macbeth!

 

blackadder-series03Blackadder Series 3 Episode 4 – Full Script

 

The Palace Kitchens
——————-

(Blackadder walks in. Baldrick looks up from polishing a shoe.)

B: You look smart, Mr. Blackadder. Going somewhere nice?

E: No, I’m off to the theatre.

B: Don’t you like it then?

E: (sarcastically) No, I don’t! A load of stupid actors strutting around,
shouting, with their chests thrust out so far, you’d think their
nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants! And the *worst*
thing about it is having to go with Prince *Mini-Brain*!

B: What, doesn’t he like it, either?

E: No, no, he loves it. The problem is that he doesn’t realise it’s *made
up*. Last year, when Brutus was about to kill Julius Caesar, the
Prince yelled out, “Look behind you, Mr. Caesar!”.

B: I don’t see a point in the theatre. All that sex and violence. I get
enough of that at home. Except for the sex, of course.

E: While we’re out, Baldrick, I want you to give this palace a good
*clean*. It’s so dirty, it’ll be unacceptable to a dung-beetle that
had lost interest in its career and really let itself go.

(The Prince calls out.)

PR: Come on, Blackadder, or we’ll miss the first act!

E: (in a loud voice) Coming, sir, as fast as I can… Stick the kettle
on, Baldrick.

The Theatre
———–

(Actors Keanrick and Mossop are performing.)

K: Now Sir, give I this advice to thee: Never never trust thine enemy.

(Keanrick fake-stabs Mossop under the armpit; Mossop dies dramatically.
The Prince watches raptly; Blackadder completely disinterestedly.)

K: Thy life is forfeit… (kicks Mossop, who is still dying noisily) Thy
life is forfeit, sir, and at an end, like our poor play. We hope it
pleased you, friends.

(Applause, except from the Prince’s box.)

PR: Certainly not, you murdering rotter! Guards, arrest that man!

E: Your Highness, it’s only a play.

PR: Oh, well, that’s all very well, but that about the poor fellow who’s
*dead*? Saying it’s only a play will not feed and clothe the little
ones he leaves behind! (shouts) Call the militia!

E: But sir, he’s not dead. See, he stands, awaiting your applause.

PR: Oh, I say, that’s very clever. He really isn’t dead. (shouts and
applauds) Oh Bravo! Bravo!

K: (mutters to Mossop) Blast, the Prince likes it!

M: Oh shit, we’ll close tonight.

A: Right, everybody out! Smash the Spinning Jenny! Burn the
rolling Rosalind! Destroy the going-up-and-down-a-bit-and-then-moving-
along Gertrude! And death to the stupid Prince who grows fat on the
profits!

(He tosses a lighted bomb to the Prince. The audience scream and run for
cover, except the Prince.)

PR: I say, how exciting! This play’s getting better and better! Bravo!
Bravo!

E: (voice from behind Prince) It’s not a play anymore, sir. Put the bomb
down and make your way quietly to the exit.

PR: Blackadder, you old thing, your problem is you can’t tell when
something’s real and when it’s not! (the bomb blows up)

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

(The Prince’s head is wrapped up in bandages, with some band-aids on his
face.)

PR: I must say, Blackadder, that was a close shave! Why on earth would an
anarchist possibly want to kill *you*?

E: I think it might’ve been *you* he was after, sir.

PR: Oh hogwash! What on earth makes you say that?

E: Well, my suspicions were first aroused by his use of the words, “Death
to the stupid Prince!”

PR: It was a bit rude, wasn’t it?

E: These are volatile times, your Highness. The American Revolution lost
your father the Colonies, the French Revolution murdered brave King
Louis and there are tremendous rumblings in Prussia, although that
might have something to do with the sausages. The whole world cries
out, “Peace, Freedom, and a few less fat bastards eating all the pie.”

PR: Well, yes, quite, something must be done! Any ideas?

E: Yes sir. Next week is your royal father’s birthday celebrations. I
suggest that I write a brilliant speech for you to recite to show the
oppressed masses how unusually sensitive you are.

(Blackadder holds a vial of smelling-salts under the Prince’s nose.)

G: PPHHHGGTTT! Well, tell me about these “oppressed masses”, what are
they so worked up about?

E: They’re worked up, sir, because they’re so poor, they’re forced to
have children simply to provide a cheap alternative to turkey at
Christmas. Disease and depravation stalk our land like.. two giant..
stalking things. And the working man is poised to overthrow us.

(Baldrick enters carrying a mop.)

PR: Oh my God, and here he is!

E: Don’t be silly, sir. That’s Baldrick, my dogsbody.

G: What’s silly about that? He looks like an oppressed mass to me. Get
him out of here at once!

E: Shoo, Baldrick, carry on with your cleaning elsewhere. And by the end
of tonight, I want that dining table so clean I can eat my dinner off
it.

(Baldrick leaves.)

PR: Cripes, Blackadder, I’m dicing with death here. The sooner I can show
how unusually sensitive I am, the better. (burps) Oh, I just had
another brilliant thought.

E: (sceptically) Another one, Your Highness?

PR: Yes, another one, actually! You remember that one I, I had about, uh,
wearing underwear on the outside to save on laundry bills? Well, what
I’m thinking to myself is, “Hello, why don’t we ask those two actor
chappies we saw tonight to teach me how to recite your speech?”
Brilliant, eh?

E: No, Your Highness, feeble.

PR: What?

E: I would advise against it. It’s a *feeble* idea.

PR: Well, tish-and-pish to your advice, Blackadder! Get them here at once!
Damn it, I’d fed up with you treating me as if I’m sort of like some
kind of a thickie! It’s not me that’s thick, it’s you and you know
why? Because I’m a bloody Prince and you’re only a *butler*. And now
go and get those actors here this minute, Mr. Thicky-Black-Thicky-
Adder-Thicky.

Mrs. Miggins’ Coffee-Shop
————————-

E: Mrs. Miggins, I’m looking for a couple of actors.

MM: Well, you’ve come to the right place, Mr. B. There’s more
Shakespearian dialogue in here than there are buns! (laughs) All my
lovely actors pop in on their way to rehearsals for a little cup of
coffee and a big dollop of inspiration.

E: You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they just got drunk, stuck on a silly hat and trusted to luck.

You mean they actually rehearse? I thought they just got drunk, stuck on a silly hat and trusted to luck.

 

MM: Ohhh no. There’s ever so much hard work that goes into the wonderful
magic that is theatre today. Haa-haa… still I don’t expect you’d
know much about that, being only a little butler. (laughs and pinches
Blackadder’s cheek)

E: They do say, Mrs. M, that verbal insults hurt *more* than physical
pain. (holds up a three-pronged fork) They are, of course, *wrong*, as
you’ll soon discover when I stick this toasting fork in your head.

The verbal insults quote from Blackadder

(Actors Keanrick and Mossop enter.)

M: (from outside) Ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome Mr. David
Keanrick.

MM: (squeals as usual) Oh hurrah!

(Keanrick enters, followed by Mossop.)

M: And the fabulous Mr. Enoch Mossop.

MM: (applauds, continues to swoon) Gentlemen, gentlemen!

K: Settle down, settle down, settle down.

M: I’m sorry, no autographs.

K: The usual, Mrs. M.

MM: OOoooohh, coming up, my lovely.

E: (noticing there’s no one surrounding the actors) Ahh, if I can just
squeeze through this admiring rabble… (mimes wading through a crowd)
Gentlemen, I’ve come with a proposition.

M: How dare you, sir. You think, just because we’re actors, we sleep with
*everyone*!

E: I think, being actors, you’re lucky to sleep with *anyone*. I come
here on behalf of my employer, to ask for some elocution lessons.

K: Haa-ha, I fear, that is quite impossible. We are in the middle of
rehearsing for our new play. We cannot possibly betray our beloved
audience by taking time off.

M: Oh no, mustn’t upset the punters. Bums on seats, laddie, bums on seats.

E: And what play is this?

M: It is a piece we penned ourselves, called “The Bloody Murder of the
Foul Prince Romero and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife”.

E: A philosophical work then.

K: Indeed yes, sir. The violence of the murder and the vastness of the
bosom are entirely justified artistically.

E: Right, I’ll tell the Prince that you can’t make it.

K: Prince?

E: Sorry, yes. Didn’t I mention that? It’s the Prince Regent. Sorry you
can’t make it. So…

M: No, no, no, no please, no. Please wait, sir. (to Keanrick, who is
clutching at him) Off, off! I think we can find some time, do you not,
Mr. Keanrick?

K: Definitely, Mr. Mossop.

E: No, no, you’ve got your beloved audience to think about.

K: Sod the proles! We’ll come.

M: Yes, worthless bastards to a man.

E: It’s nice to see artistic integrity thriving so strongly in the
theatre. Well, this afternoon at four then, at the Palace. (exits)

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

(The Prince is wearing a long cape and a false moustache.)

PR: Well, what do you think?

E: Are you ill or something?

PR: No, I’m simply trying to look more like an actor.

E: Well, I’m sure you don’t need the false moustache.

PR: No?

E: No. (tears off the Prince’s moustache)

PR: Oowwwwh! (bumps into a cabinet; Baldrick emerges clutching a
feather-duster) Egads, it’s that oppressed mass again! (starts to
strangle Baldrick)

E: No sir, that is Baldrick spring cleaning.

PR: Oh yes, so it is.

E: Ummpf, finish the job later, Baldrick.

B: Very well sir. The cleaning or the being strangled?

E: Either suits me.

PR: Look Blackadder, this is all getting a bit hairy, isn’t it? I mean,
are you sure we can even trust these acting fellows? Last time we went
to the theatre, three of them *murdered* Julius Caesar, and one of
them was his best friend, Brutus.

brutus

E: As I’ve told you about *eight* times, the man playing Julius Caesar
was *an actor* called Kemp.

PR: Really?

E: (sharply) Yes!

PR: Thundering gherkins! Well, Brutus must have been pretty miffed when he
found out.

E: (very sharply) What?

PR: That he hadn’t killed Caesar after all, just some poxy actor called
Kemp. What, d’you think he went round to Caesar’s place after the play
and killed him then?

E: Oh, God, it’s pathetic!

The Kitchens
————

(There is a rapping at the door. Blackadder walks down the stairs.
Baldrick looks up from his silver-polishing.)

B: Is that the door?

E: Oh, don’t worry, it’s just the actors.

(Continued rapping. Blackadder pours himself a cup of tea.)

B: My uncle Baldrick was in a play once.

E: Really?

B: Yeah, it was called *Macbeth*.

E: And what did he play?

B: Second codpiece… Macbeth wore him in the fight scenes.

E: So he was a stunt codpiece. (sips his tea) Did he have a large part?

B: Depends who’s playing Macbeth.

E: Oh, incidentally, Baldrick – actors are very superstitious. On no
account mention the word *Macbeth* this evening, alright?

B: Why not?

E: It brings them bad luck and it makes them very unhappy.

B: Oh, so you won’t be mentioning it either?

E: No… well, not very often.

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

E: You should have knocked.

K: Our knocks, impertinent butler, were loud enough to wake the hounds of
hell!

(The actors give Blackadder their hats.)

K: (to Mossop) Lead on, McDuff.

M: I shall…

(They enter. Blackadder dumps their hats on the floor and kicks them into
the hall.)

M: ..lest you continue in your quotations and mention the name of the
“Scottish Play”.

K: Oh-ho… never fear, I shan’t do that. (laughs)

E: By the “Scottish Play”, I assume you mean *Macbeth*.

(The actors perform a ritual warding off of bad luck.)

As: Aahhhhh! (slapping each others hands, pat-a-cake fashion) Hot potato,
off his drawers, pluck to make amends. (pinch each others noses)
Aaahh!

E: What was that?

K: We were exorcising evil spirits. Being but a mere butler, you will not
know the great theatre tradition that one does *never* speak the name
of the “Scottish Play”.

E: What, *Macbeth*?

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ohhh!

E: Good lord, you mean you have to do *that* every time I say *Macbeth*?

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwww!

M: Will you please stop saying *that*! Always call it the “Scottish
Play”.

E: So you want me to say the “Scottish Play”?

As: YES!!!

E: Rather than *Macbeth*?

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

(Prince George enters.)

PR: For heaven’s sake, what is all this hullabaloo, all this shouting and
screaming and yelling blue murder? Why… it’s like that play we saw
the other day, what was it called… umm..

E: *Macbeth*, sir?

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

PR: No, no, it was called Julius Caesar.

E: Ah yes, of course. Julius Caesar… not *Macbeth*.

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

E: Are you sure you want these people to stay?

PR: Course, I asked them, didn’t I, Mr. Thicky-Butler.

K: Your Highness, may I say what a great honour it is to be invited?

PR: Why certainly.

K: Thank you. (dramatically) What a great honour that it is to be invited
here to make merry in the halls of our King’s loins’ most glorious
outpouring.

PR: Eeergh!

K: Now, Your Highness, shall we begin straight away?

PR: Absolutely, yes. Now, I’ve got this… um…

M: Now, before we inspect the script, let us have a look at stance.

PR: Right.

K: Yes. The ordinary fellow stands like well… as you do now.

M: Whereas your hero… stands thus.

(The actors assume a heroic stance – legs spread wide, hips thrust
forwards. The Prince follows suit.)

Blackadder series 3 episode 4 sense and senility

PR: Right. Well, that’s sort of like this…

K: Excellent, Your Highness. Even more so…

PR: What, oh, like that? (Even wider, standing as if on a ledge. A creak
sounds.) What was that noise?

M: It wasn’t *me*! We are used to standing in this position.

(Another creak.)

PR: It came from over here. (opens a trunk to find Baldrick) Anarchist!

B: Cleaner!

PR: So you’ve had a wash, that’s no excuse! (starts strangling Baldrick
again)

E: (Enters, amidst the screams) No sir, that is Baldrick spring cleaning.

PR: But he’s, look, he’s got a bomb!

E: That’s not a *bomb*, sir, that’s a sponge.

PR: Oh yes, so it is. Well, get it out of here at once before it explodes.

(Exit Baldrick, carrying the sponge very gingerly at arm’s length.)

PR: (continuing) Um, now, stance. I’m sorry about that. I think we really
had something there, too.

K: Oh yes, Your Highness. Why, your very posture tells me, “Here is a man
of true greatness.”

E: Either that or “Here are my genitals, please kick them.”

M: Sir, I really must ask that this ill-educated oaf be removed from the
room.

K: Yes! Get out sir. Your presence here is as useful as fine bone china
at a tea-party for drunken elephants.

PR: Is that right? Well, yes, hang it all, get out Blackadder, and stop
corking our juices.

E: Certainly, Your Highness. I’ll leave you to dribble in private.

The Kitchens
————

(Blackadder enters, fuming, and kicks a bucket down the stairs.)

B: Is something wrong, Mr. B.?

E: (angrily) I just about had it up to here with at that Prince. One more
insult, and I’ll be handing in my notice.

B: Oh, does that mean I’ll be butler?

E: Not unless some kindly passing surgeon cut your head open with a spade
and sticks a new brain in it.

B: Oh, right.

E: I don’t know *why* I put up with it. I really don’t. Every year at the
Guild of Butlers’ Christmas Party, I’m the one who has to wear the red
nose and the pointy hat for winning the “Who’s-Got-The-Stupidest-
Master” Competition. Well, all I can say is, he’d better watch out!
One more foot wrong and the contract between us will be as broken as
this milk-jug.

B: But that milk-jug isn’t broken.

E: You really do walk into these things, don’t you. (Smashes the milk-jug
on Baldrick’s head.)

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

(The Prince is practicing his heroic stance and face.)

M: Excellent. And now, sir, at last, the speech.

PR: Right. (unfolds his speech and prepares to read it) Ahemm..

K: No, no, no, no… Your Royal Highness. What have you forgotten?

PR: Oh now look, if I stand any more heroically than *this*, I’m in danger
of seriously disappointing my future Queen.

K: No, no, Your Highness, not the stance… the *roar*.

PR: You want me to roar?

M: Well, of course we wish you to roar. All the great orators roar before
commencing with their speeches. It is the way of things. Ah, Mr.
Keanrick, from your Hamlet, please.

K: Hh-hmm… (orates) OOOOoooohhhhh… To be or not to be.

M: From your Julius Caesar.

K: OoooHHHHOOOOHHH… Friends, Romans, countrymen…

(Blackadder enters, carrying a tray.)

M: From your leading character, in a play connected with Scotland.

E: That’s *Macbeth*, isn’t it?

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww,
oh, oww..

M: (very nasally) Let’s all roar together, shall we? One, two, three…

(The actors and the Prince roar – the Prince’s roar being louder and
embarrassingly long.)

K: Excellent, Your Highness. Now shall we try putting it all together?

PR: (adopts his heroic stance, screws up his face) RRROOOAAAAHHHHHHhhh…
(glances at his speech) Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking…

K: No, no, no, alas, I fear you mew it like a frightened tree. May I see
the speech? (the actors mutter together, laughing) Who wrote this
dribble?

(All look at Edmund.)

E: Is there a problem with the speech?

(The actors laugh.)

PR: Well, yes, there is a problem, actually. The problem is that you wrote
it, Mr. Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can’t-Write-For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed!

(The actors laugh again. There is a long pause, then Blackadder drops his
tray, obviously insulted.)

E: Whoops!

The Kitchens
————

B: They want their supper, sir?

E: Yes, preferably something that has first passed through the digestive
system of the cat. And you’ll have to take it up yourself.

B: Why?

E: Because I’m leaving, Baldrick. I’m about to enter the job market.
(reads the newspaper) Right, let’s see… Situations vacant: Mr. and
Mrs. Pitt are looking for a baby-minder to take Pitt the Younger to
Parliament… there’s a fellow called George Stevenson has invented a
moving kettle… wants someone to help with the marketing… oh, and
there’s a foreign opportunity here. Treacherous, malicious,
unprincipled cad, preferably non-smoker, wanted to be King of
Sardinia. No time wasters please. By Napoleon Bonaparte, PO Box 1,
Paris. Right! We’re on our way!

The Prince’s Dining Room
————————

M: Oh, ah, sir… about costume. Any thoughts?

PR: Well, enormous trousers, certainly. And I thought perhaps an Admiral’s
uniform, because we know what all the nice girls love, don’t we?

(They all laugh.)

PR: I’ll tell you what, why don’t I go and try them on for you?

M: Oh, super.

G: Help yourselves to wine. You’ll need a stiff drink when you see the
size of these damn trousers!

(The actors laugh again. The Prince leaves; the laughter dies abruptly.)

K: Oh, my dear, what a ghastly evening!

M: You’re so right, love.

K: Look, while he’s gone, why don’t we have a quick read-through of “The
Murder of Prince Romero and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife”?

M: Act 1, Scene 1?

K: Hmmm.

M: Spring has come, with all its gentle showers. Methinks it’s time to
hack the Prince to death.

The Kitchens
————

E: Baldrick, I would like to say how much I will miss your honest and
friendly companionship.

B: Aaahh, thank you Mr. B.

E: But as we both know, it’ll be an utter lie. I will therefore confine
myself to saying simply, “Sod off,” and if I ever meet you again,
it’ll be twenty billion years too soon.

If i ever meet you again, it will be twenty billion years too soon.

(Blackadder walks out of the room…)

B: Goodbye, you lazy big-nosed, rubber-faced bastard.

(…but not out of earshot; he comes back in. Baldrick looks worried.)

E: I fear, Baldrick, that you will soon be eating those badly chosen
words. I wouldn’t bet you a single groat that you can survive five
minutes here without me.

B: Oh come on, Mr. B., it’s not as though we’re gonna get murdered or
anything the minute you leave, is it?

E: Hope springs eternal, Baldrick.

(Blackadder leaves; the bell rings.)

B: Coming!

The Prince’s Dining Room
————————

(The actors are still rehearsing their play. Baldrick opens the door and
listens.)

K: Oooooaaahhh, let’s kill the Prince. Who will strike first?

M: Let me, and let this dagger’s point prick out his soft eyeball and sup
with glee upon its exquisite jelly.

K: Have you the stomach?

M: I have not killed him yet, sir, but when I do, I shall have the
stomach and the liver, too, and the floppily-doppolies in their horrid
glue.

K: If a servant shall hear us in our plotting?

M: Ah ha! Then shall we have servant sausages for tea!

K: And servant rissoles shall our supper be!

(Baldrick runs off in terror, in search of the Prince.)

The Prince’s Dressing-room
————————–

B: (shouting) Murder! Murder! The Revolution’s started!!

PR: (wearing a huge pair of trousers) What?!

B: A plot, a plot to kill you!

PR: Ah, so you’ve come clean at last, have you, you bloody little poor
person!

B: No, look, the actors downstairs, they’re anarchists!

PR: Anarchists!?

B: Yeah, I heard them plotting. They’re gonna poke out your liver, turn
me into rissole, and suck on your exquisite floppily-doppolies!

PR: Oh, what are we going to do?

B: Well, Mr. Blackadder says, “when the going gets tough, the tough hide
under the table”.

PR: Blackadder, of course! Where is he?

B: Oh, he’s in Sardinia.

PR: What? Why?

B: You were rude to him, so he left.

PR: Oh no! What a mad, blundering, incredibly handsome nincompoop I’ve
been! What are we to do? If we go downstairs, they’ll chop us up and
eat us alive! We’re doomed, doomed!

(Baldrick whines. Suspense music strikes up…)

PR: SHhh! Oh…

(Baldrick whimpers. We hear footsteps, getting closer. Baldrick and
George clutch each other. There is a creak, just before… Blackadder
enters.)

E: Good evening, Your Highness.

PR: Oh, Blackadder.

E: Four minutes, twenty-two seconds, Baldrick. You owe me a groat.

PR: Thank God you’re here! We desperately need you!

E: Who, me, sir? Mr. Thicky-Black-Thicky-Adder-Thicky?

PR: Oh tish!

E: Mr. Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can’t-Write-For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed?

PR: Yes, I’m…

E: Mr. Brilliantly-Undervalued-Butler who hasn’t had a raise in a
fortnight?

PR: Take an extra thousand? Guineas? Per month?

E: All right. What’s your problem?

PR: Well look, the actors have turned out to be vicious anarchists! They
intend to kill us all!

E: What, are they going to *bore* us to death?

PR: No, no, no, stab us! Baldrick overheard them.

B: I did!

E: Are you sure they meant it, sir?

PR: Quite sure, Baldrick, how far apart were their legs?

B: Oh, this far. (spreads his legs)

PR: And their nipples?

B: That far. (indicates on his chest)

E: Alright, sir, I’ll see what I can do.

The Prince’s Dining Room
————————

M: To torture him, I lust. Let’s singe his hair, and up his nostrils hot
bananas thrust.

E: Rehearsal’s going well, gentlemen?

M: Begone. A mere butler with the intellectual capacity of a squashed
apricot can be of no use to us.

K: Indeed yes, sir. Your participation is as irritating as a potted
cactus in a monkey’s pajamas.

E: Well, in that case, I won’t interrupt you any longer. Sorry to disturb
you.

The Prince’s Dressing-room
————————–

(Baldrick and the Prince are cowering under the table.)

PR: Blackadder, thank God you’re safe! Well, what happened?

E: Sir, there was no need to panic. It was all perfectly straightforward.

PR: Well?

E: They’re traitors, sir. They must be arrested, brutally tortured and
executed forthwith.

PR: Bravo! (bangs his head under the table)

The Prince’s Lounge
——————-

(Later. The actors are tied up with two Guards holding them.)

M: But Your Highness, there’s been a terrible mistake.

E: That’s what they were bound to say, sir.

K: It was a play, sir, a play! Look, all the words you heard written down
on that page.

E: Textbook, stuff again, you see. The criminals’ vanity always makes
them make one tiny, but fatal, mistake. Theirs was to have their
entire conspiracy printed and published in plain manuscript. (to
Guards) Take them away!

As: Mercy, we beg for mercy… please sir.

E: I have got only one thing to say to you… *Macbeth*!

As: Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends…

(The actors are led out.)

PR: Well done, Bladder! How can I ever thank you?

E: Well, you can start by not calling me “Bladder”, sir. (calls out)
Macbeth!

(Distant sounds of the actors’ ritual drift in from outside…)

PR: Of course, Bladder. No sooner said than done. No hard feelings?

E: No sir. It’s good to be back in the saddle. Did I say saddle? I mean
harness.

PR: Bravo! So we’re the best of friends as ever we were.

E: Absolutely sir.

PR: Hurrah!

E: In fact now with the evil Mossop and Keanrick have got their
comeuppance, the Drury Lane Theatre is free. I thought we might
celebrate by staging a little play that I’ve written.

PR: Oh, what an excellent idea! And with my new found acting skills, um,
might there be a part in it for me, do you think?

E: I was hoping you might play the title role, sir.

PR: What a roaringly good idea! What’s the play called?

E: Thick Jack Clot Sits in the Stocks and Gets Pelted with Rancid
Tomatoes.

PR: Excellent!

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 3 – Nob and Nobility Full Script

This is the full script for Blackadder Series 3 Episode 3. Nob and Nobility sees Blackadder get involved with the French Revolution in order to make a profit. And who is that elusive Pimpernel?

The full script for Blackadder Series 3 Episode 3 Nob and Nobility

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 3 – Nob and Nobility Full Script

Miggins: [dancing about by a table of two customers in her coffee shop]
Oh la la! [laughs happily]

[Edmund Blackadder, butler to the Prince Regent, enters]

Edmund: Ah, good morning, Mrs Miggins.

Miggins: Bonjour, monsieur.

Edmund: What?

Miggins: Bonjour, monsieur — it’s French.

Edmund: So is eating frogs, cruelty to geese and urinating in the street,
but that’s no reason to inflict it on the rest of us.

Miggins: But French is all the fashion! My coffee shop is full of
frenchies, and it’s all because of that wonderful Scarlet
Pimpernel. [an odd squishy noise is heard occasionally,
starting now]

Edmund: The Scarlet Pimpernel is >not< wonderful, Mrs Miggins. There is
no reason whatsoever to admire someone for filling London with
a load of garlic-chewing French toffs crying “Oh la la!” and looking
for sympathy all the time just because their fathers had their heads
cut off.

I’ll have a cup of coffee and some shepherd’s pie, please.

Miggins: [put off] We don’t serve >pies< anymore! My French clientele
consider >pies< uncouth.

Edmund: I hardly think that a nation that eats snails and would go to bed
with the kitchen sink if it put on a tutu is in any position to
preach couthness.

So what >is< on the menu? [he picks up the small menu and flips it
over looking at it casually]

Miggins: Well, today’s hot choice is Chicken Pimpernel in a Scarlet Sauce,
Scarlet Chicken in a Pimpernel Sauce, or Huge Suspicious-Looking
Sausages in a Scarlet Pimpernel Sauce.

Edmund: What exactly is Scarlet Pimpernel sauce?

Miggins: [she uses her hands to demonstrate as she speaks] You take a large
ripe frog, squeeze it [one of the squishy noises is heard as she
makes this motion, giving away what the noise is] —

Edmund: [putting up a hand] Yes, yes, all right. [several words are covered
entirely by laughter (anyone out there have a closed-caption decoder,
since the commercial-release tapes are closed-captioned?).]

[Edmund goes to the door to leave, just as a Frenchman enters.]

Frenchman: [bowing] Ah, bonjour, monsieur!

Edmund: Sod off.

[Scene changes to Edmund’s quarters, below the prince’s house.
Baldrick is tearing apart some dough. Edmund enters, picks up
a tabby cat and punts it high into the air across the room.]

Baldrick: Oh, Sir! Poor little Mildred the cat! What’s he ever done to you?

Edmund: It is the way of the world, Baldrick — the abused always kick
downwards. I am annoyed, and so I kick the cat… the cat
[there is a mouse `eek!’ noise] pounces on the mouse, and, finally,
the mouse–

Baldrick: [startled, jumps] Agh!

Edmund: …bites you on the behind.

Baldrick: Well, what do I do?

Edmund: Nothing. You are last in God’s great chain, Baldrick — unless,
of course, there’s an earwig around here that you’d like to
victimise.

You are the last in God's great chain - Blackadder quote.

[Baldrick leans toward Edmund, trying to get him to notice something]

Edmund: [notices] Baldrick, what’s happened to your nose?

Baldrick: Nice, isn’t it?

Edmund: No it isn’t. It’s revolting.

Baldrick: Oh. I’ll take it off, then. [removes item from his nose]

Edmund: Baldrick, why are you wearing a false boil? What are we to expect
next: a beauty wart? a cosmetic verruca?

Baldrick: It’s a Scarlet Pimple, Sir.

Edmund: Really…

Baldrick: Yeah, they’re all the rage down our way. Everyone wants to
express their admiration for the great Pimple and his brilliant
disguises.

Edmund: [takes the pimple, speaks angrily] What has this fellow done? —
apart from pop over to France to grab a few French knobs from the
ineffectual clutches [tosses pimple into the fireplace] of some
malnourished whingeing lefties, taking the opportunity while there,
no doubt, to pick up some really good cheap wine and some of their
marvelous open-fruit flans…

Doesn’t anyone know? We hate the French! We fight wars against
them! Did all those men die in vain on the field at Agincourt?
Was the man who burned Joan of Arc simply wasting good matches?

[Bells ring.]

Edmund: Ah, His Royal Highness, the Pinhead of Wales, summons me. You know,
I feel almost well-disposed towards him this morning. Half the
chump though he may be, at least he’s not French.

[Scene changes to inside Prince’s bedroom. He is having some drinks
with lords Topper and Smedley.]

Prince: “Un toast! Encore un toast,” I say! Le Pimpernel Scarlette!

Topper & Smedley: Le Pimpernel Scarlette!

[Edmund enters.]

Prince: Ah! Le Adder Noir! Come on au in!

[Edmund is upset, but restrains it.]

Prince: [to Topper and Smedley] This is the fellow to ask, you chaps:
my butler — terribly clever. Brighter than a brain pie.
[Topper and Smedley chuckle like the dandies they are]

Blackadder, we’re trying to guess who the Scarlet Pimpernel is,
so we can send him an enormous postal order to express our
admiration. Any ideas?

Edmund: Well, I’m sure if you addressed the envelope to “The Biggest Show-Off
in London,” it would reach him eventually.

[Topper and Smedley stand up from where they were lying (on Prince’s
bed) and approach Edmund.]

Topper: Tish and pish! Gadzooks! Milarky! How dare you say such a thing?
Damn me, sir, if you’re not the worst kind of swine!

Smedley: Damn that swine…

Edmund: I’m sorry, Sir. I was merely pointing out that sneaking aristocrats
out from under the noses of French revolutionaries is about as
difficult as putting on a hat.

Topper: Sink me, sir! This is treason! The Scarlet Pimpernel’s a hero,
and the revolution is orchestrated by a ruthless band of highly
organised killers, damn them!

Smedley: Damn those organised killers…

Topper: [turning to Prince] Sir, if I remember rightly, we were just
discussing the French Embassy ball in honour of the exiled
aristocracy…

Prince: We certainly were — where I intend the wear the most magnificent
pair of trousers ever to issue forth from the delicate hands of
Mssrs Snibcock and Turkey, Couturiers to the Very Wealthy and the
Extremely Fat. If the Pimpernel does finally reveal himself, I
don’t want to get caught out wearing boring trousers!

Smedley: Damn those boring trousers…

Topper: Well, what say we bet your cock-sure domestic a thousand guineas
he can’t go to France, rescue an aristocrat, and present him at
the ball?

[Edmund looks up.]

Topper: Hah! That’s turned you white, hasn’t it? That’s frightened you,
you lily-livered, caramel-kidneyed, custard-coloured cad?
Not so brilliant now, are you, eh? eh?

Smedley: Eh?

Edmund: On the contrary, Sir. I’ll just go and pack.

Topper: Oh.

Edmund: Perhaps Lord Smedley and Lord Topper will accompany me. I’m sure
it will be a fairly easy trip — the odd death-defying leap and a
modest amount of dental torture… Want to come?

Topper: [frightened] Oh, no!

Smedley: Oh, no…

Topper: Damn!

Smedley: Damn…

Topper: Er, any day now, I’ve got an appointment at my doctor. I’ve got
a bit of a sniffle coming on — I can feel it in my bones.

Smedley: Damn bones, damn bones, damn…

Prince: You know, what about next week? Oh, come on, you chaps, get your
diaries out, come on!

Topper: Oh, all right. Damn!

Smedley: Damn…

Topper: I left it behind!

Smedley: …behind…

Topper: …and, er, besides, I’ve just remembered: my father’s just died!

[Smedley can’t say the same thing this time; looks confused.]

Topper: I’ve got to be at his funeral in ten minutes! Damn sorry!
Goodbye, Your Highness. [He bows, giving his drink to Edmund.
Edmund opens the door and lets him out.]

Smedley: Oh, damn… I’m the best man. Damn that dead father, damn…
[Gives his drink to Edmund; bows; exits, saying “Bye bye…”]

Edmund: [beyond the door to the exiting pair] See you at the ball.

Prince: Oh, what a shame they were so busy. [walking into the chamber]
It would have been lovely to have had them with us.

Edmund: “Us”?

Prince: Yes.

Edmund: >You’re< coming, Sir?

Prince: Well, certainly.

Edmund: Ah. [pause] and nothing I can say about the mind-bending horrors
of the revolution could put you off?

Prince: Absolutely not! Now, come on, Blackadder — let’s get packing.
I want to look my best for those fabulous French birds.

Edmund: Sir, the type of women currently favoured in France are toothless
crones who just cackle insanely.

Prince: Oh, ignore that — they’re just playing hard-to-get.

Edmund: …by removing all their teeth, going mad and aging forty years?

Prince: That’s right — the little teasers! Well, come on! [he reclines]
Erm, I think a blend of silks and satins…

Edmund: I fear not, Sir. If we are to stand any chance of survival in
France, [he rings the servant bell] we shall have to dress as the
smelliest lowlife imaginable.

Prince: Oh yes? What sort of thing?

Edmund: Well, Sir, let me show you our Paris Collection…

[Baldrick begins walking in from the the outer door.]

Edmund: Baldrick is wearing a sheep’s-bladder jacket, with matching
dung-ball accessories. Hair by Crazy Meg of Bedlam [obscured
by laughter]. Notice how the overpowering aroma of rotting
pilchards has been woven cunningly into the ensemble.

[Edmund approaches Baldrick.]

Edmund: Baldrick, when did you last change your trousers?

Baldrick: [as if rehearsed] I have never changed my trousers.

Edmund: Thank you. [to Prince] You see, the ancient Greeks, Sir, wrote
in legend of a terrible container in which all the evils of the
world were trapped. How prophetic they were. All they got wrong
was the name. They called it “Pandora’s Box,” when, of course,
they meant “Baldrick’s Trousers.”

Baldrick: [to Prince] It certainly can get a bit whiffy, there’s no doubt
about that!

Edmund: We are told that, when the box was opened, the whole world turned
to darkness because of Pandora’s fatal curiousity. [to Baldrick]
I charge you now, Baldrick: for the good of all mankind, never
allow curiosity to lead you to open your trousers. Nothing of
interest lies therein.

[to Prince] However, Your Highness, it is trousers exactly like
these that >you< will have to wear if we are to pass safely into
France.

Prince: Mmm, ahem, yes, well, you know, er, on second thought, I think I
might give this whole thing a miss. You know, my tummy’s playing
up a bit. Er, wish… wish I could come, but just not poss with
this tum.

Edmund: I understand perfectly, Sir.

Prince: Also, the chances of me scoring if I look and smell like him
are >zero<.

Edmund: Well, that’s true, Sir. We shall return presently to bid you
farewell.

[Prince turns to enter his bedroom; Edmund and Baldrick head out.]

Baldrick: Mr B, I’ve been having second thoughts about this trip to France.

Edmund: Oh? Why?

Baldrick: Well, as far as I can see, looking and smelling like this,
there’s not much chance of >me< scoring, either.

[Edmund thwaps him on the head.]

[Scene changes to Prince, Edmund and Baldrick (who is carrying
everything) standing in the vestibule. This scene is overplayed,
complete with `farewell’ harp music.]

Prince: Well, Blackadder, this is it.

Edmund: Yes, Sir. If I don’t make it back, please write to my mother
and tell her that I’ve been alive all the time; it’s just that
I couldn’t be bothered to get in touch with the old bat.

Prince: Well, of course, old man. It’s the very least I could do.

Edmund: We must leave at once. The shadows lengthen, and we have a long
and arduous journey ahead of us. [He shakes Prince’s hand.]
Farewell, dear master and — dare I say? — friend.

[Edmund and Prince embrace. Prince speaks as they separate.]

Prince: Farewell, brave liberator and — dare I say it? — butler!

[Edmund and Baldrick leave. Prince starts to cry.]

[Scene changes to Edmund’s quarters. Edmund and Baldrick enter.]

Edmund: Right, stick the kettle on, Balders.

Baldrick: What, aren’t we going to France?

Edmund: Of course we’re not going to France — it’s incredibly dangerous
there!

Baldrick: Well, how are you going to win your bet?

Edmund: As usual, Baldrick: by the use of the large thing between my ears.

Baldrick: Oh, your nose…

Edmund: No, Baldrick: my brain. All we do is lie low here for a week, then
go to Mrs Miggins’, pick up any old French aristocrat, drag him
through a puddle, take him to the ball, and claim our thousand
guineas.

Baldrick: Well, what if the prince finds us here?

Edmund: He couldn’t find his own fly buttons, let alone the kitchen door.

[Scene changes to Prince’s bedroom. Prince takes a pair of blue
trousers with silver dots and silver side stripes from a box.]

Prince: What a pair of trousers!!! I shall be the Belle of the Embassy
Ball! Now, how do you put them on? Er… [calls] Blackadder!
[realisation] Oh, no — damn! — he’s gone to France. Well, I’ll
do it myself; shouldn’t be too difficult. Erm… Er…
[he puts an arm through one trouser leg…]

[One Week Later]

[Scene: Edmund’s quarters.]

Edmund: [sitting in a chair, his feet on the table, smoking a pipe]
Well, Baldrick, what a very pleasant week. We must do this more
often.

Baldrick: [seeming a bit bored] Yes, I shall certainly choose revolutionary
France for my holiday again next year.

Edmund: Still, time to go to work. Off to Mrs Miggins’ to pick up any old
French toff–

[A crashing noise upstairs interrupts him.]

Baldrick: What do you think that is?

Edmund: Well, if I was feeling malicious, I would say it’s the prince
still trying to put his trousers on after a week.

[Scene change to upstairs.]

[Prince, wearing his trousers over his head, is bumping into walls.]

Prince: Damn!

[Scene change to Mrs Miggins’ coffee shop.]

[Edmund and Baldrick enter.]

Edmund: Ah, Mrs Miggins… I’d like a massive plate of pig’s trotters,
frog’s legs and snail’s ears, please — all drenched in your lovely
Scarlet Pimpernel Sauce.

Miggins: Not so hostile to the frenchies >now<, Mr B…

Edmund: Certainly not, Mrs M. I’d sooner be hostile to my own servant.
[baps Baldrick on the back of the head]
[Several words obscured by laughter.]

In fact, I came here specifically to meet lovely frenchies.

Miggins: Well, vivre to that and an eclair for both of us! [laughs]

Edmund: Vivre, indeed. Now, what I’m looking for, Mrs M, is a particular
kind of frenchy — namely, one who is transparently of noble blood
but also short on cash.

Miggins: Ah, well, I’ve got just the fellow for you — over there by the
window: The Comte de Frou Frou.

[Shot of Frou Frou holding — and looking oddly at — a huge
suspicious-looking sausage.]

Miggins: He’s pretty down on his luck, and he’s made that horse’s willy
last all morning.

Edmund: Oh, good. Baldrick, we have struck garlic!

[Edmund and Baldrick approach Frou Frou. Edmund scrapes leftovers
off of Frou Frou’s table onto a plate, then offers the plate to
Baldrick.]

Edmund: Now you can some lunch, Baldrick.

Baldrick: Thank you. [leaves the coffee shop]

Edmund: [addresses Frou Frou] Le Comte de Frou Frou, I believe…

Frou Frou: [looks up] Eh?

Edmund: [sitting at the table] Do you speak English?

Frou Frou: A little…

Edmund: Yes, when you say “a little,” what exactly do you mean? I mean,
can we talk? or are we going to spend the rest of the afternoon
asking each other the way to the beach in very loud voices?

Frou Frou: Ah, no. I can, er, order coffee, deal with waiters, make sexy
chit-chat with girls — that type of thing.

Edmund: Oh, good.

Frou Frou: Just don’t ask me to take a physiology class or direct a light
opera.

Edmund: No, no, I won’t. [propositioning] Now, listen, Frou Frou …
Would you like to earn some money?

Frou Frou: No, I wouldn’t. I would like other people to earn it and then
>give< it to me, just like in France in the good old days.

Edmund: Yes, but this is a chance to return to the good old days.

Frou Frou: Oh, how I would love that! I hate this life! The food is
filthy! This huge sausage is very suspicious. If I didn’t know
better, I’d say it was a horse’s wi–

Horses willy

Edmund: Yes, yes, yes, all right… Now, listen; the plan is this:
I have a bet on with someone that I can get a Frenchman out
of Paris. I want >you< to be that Frenchman. All you have to
do is come to the embassy with me, say that I rescued you, and
then walk away with fifty guineas and all the vol-au-vents
you can stuff in your pockets. What do you say?

Frou Frou: It will be a pleasure! If there’s one thing we aristocrats
enjoy, it’s a fabulous partie! Oh, the music! Oh, the laughter!
Oh — if only I’d brought my mongoose costume…

[Scene change to the embassy. It is dank, and some moans of despair
can be heard. Edmund, Frou Frou and Baldrick enter.]

Frou Frou: Yes, well, obviously it hasn’t really got going yet…

Edmund: I think that is a bit of an understatement, Frou Frou. I’ve been
at autopsies with more party atmosphere.

Frou Frou: Don’t worry! In a moment we will hear the sound of music and
happy laughter…

[Laughter is heard — evil maniacal laughter. A French soldier
approaches.]

Soldier: [to Frou Frou] Bon soir, monsieur.

Frou Frou: Bon soir!

Edmund: Ah, good evening, my man. Do you speak English?

Soldier: Little.

Edmund: Good, well, just take me to the ambassador, then, will you?

Soldier: Pardon?

Edmund: [articulate] I have rescued an [pushes the end of his nose up]
aristocrat, from [makes claw-like hands] the clutches of the
evil revolutionaries. Please take me to the ambassador.

Soldier: No, I won’t. I >am< an [makes claw hands] “evil revolutionarie,”
and have [slices finger across his neck] murdered the [pushes up
his nose] ambassadeur, and turned him into [slaps the back and
front of one hand against the other, then puts that same hand to
his mouth] pate!

Edmund: Ah.

Soldier: [to Frou Frou] …and you, aristo-pig, are trapped!!!

Frou Frou: Peeg? Hah! You will regret your insolence, revolutionary deug!

Solider: Dog? Hah! You will regret your arrogance, royalist snake!

Frou Frou: Sneag? Hah!

Edmund: [stepping in] Look, I’ve very sorry to interrupt this very
interesting discussion, but it really is none of my business,
so I think I’ll be on my way. Come on, Baldrick.

Soldier: [stopping Edmund] Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah! Not so fast, English!
In rescuing this, eu [motions at Frou Frou], this, eu, boite de
stinkyweed, you have attempted to pervert revolutionary justice.
Do you know what they do to people who do that?

Edmund: They’re…given a little present and allowed to go free?

Soldier: No…

Edmund: They’re smacked and told not to be naughty, but basically let off…

Soldier: No…

Baldrick: [raising his hand] I think I know.

Edmund: [quite unhappy and depressed] What?

Baldrick: [quite happy that he knows the answer] They’re put in prison for
the night, and brutally guillotined in the morning!

Edmund: Well done, Baldrick…

Soldier: Your little g’nome is correct, monsieur. Gentlemen! Welcome
to the last day of your life! [shuts and locks the door]

[Scene change to our heroes in a cell, with Soldier outside.]

Frou Frou: How dare you, you filthy weaselle!

Solider: Weasel? Hah! You’re one to talk, aristo-waat-heug!

Frou Four: Warthog? Hah!

Soldier: Hah!

Edmund: [pulling Frou Frou away from the barred window] Excuse me,
Frou Frou… [to Soldier] Look, mate, me old mate…
We’re both working class; we both hate these rich bastards;
I mean, come on, come on, me old mucker, just, just let
me go — you’ve got nothing against me…

french

Soldier: On the contrarie! I >hate< you English with your boring trousers
and your shiny toilet paper, and your ridiculous preconception that
Frenchmen are great lovers — [looks both ways, then speaks a bit
softly] >I’m< French, and I’m hung like a baby carrot and a couple
of petit-pois.

Edmund: [obscured by laughter]

Soldier: Farewell, “old muckeur,” and [shouts] death to the aristoes!!!

Baldrick: [joining in happily] Death to the aristoes!

Edmund: Oh, shut up, Mouse-brain…

[Now inside the cell. Baldrick sits on the bed.]

Frou Frou: Monsieur, why do you waste your words on this scum?
Have no fear! The Scarlet Pimpernel will save us.

Edmund: Hah! [knocks Baldrick off the bed; Baldrick falls to the floor, and
remains sitting where he lands] Some hope. [lies down]
The Scarlet Pimpernel is the most overrated human being since
Judas Iscariot won the A.D. 31 Best Disciple Competition.

Frou Frou: Well, if he >should< fail us, here: I these have these suicide
pills. One for me [pulls pill out of his ear]; one for you
[pulls one out of a nostril]; and one for the dwarf [pulls one
out of his bottom — various silly noises accompany each].

Edmund: Say “thank you,” Baldrick.

Baldrick: Thank you, Mr Frou. [puts pill to his mouth; Edmund stops him.]

[The door begins to open.]

Frou Frou: Ah, the Pimpernel!!

Baldrick: Hurray!

Soldier: [entering] Ah, the >ambassador<, hurray…
[moves his fingers about, bounces on his toes]
Hmm, I’ve got nothing to do… So I think I will torture …
[points to Frou Frou, forces him to stand, and shouts]
you, aristo-mongreulle!

Frou Frou: Mongrel? Hah! I look forward to it, proletarian skeunk!

Soldier: Skunk? Hah! We’ll see about that, aristocratic happypotamus!

Frou Frou: [being led outside] Happypotamus? Hah! We’ll soon see who’s
the happypotamus … [voice gets quiet as door is shut and
locked (I think the rest of his vocalisations are nonsense
anyway)]

Baldrick: I’m glad to say, I don’t think you’ll be needing those pills,
Mr B…

Edmund: I’m I jumping the gun, Baldrick, or are the words “I have a cunning plan” marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this conversation?

I have a cunning plan quote from Blackadder

Baldrick: They certainly are!

Edmund: Well, forgive me if I don’t jump up and down with glee; your
record in this department is not exactly a hundred percent.
So, what’s the plan?

Baldrick: We do…nothing.

Edmund: Yep, that’s another world-beater.

Baldrick: Wait, I haven’t finished. We do nothing until our heads have
actually been cut off…

Edmund: …and then we spring into action?

Baldrick: Exactly! You know how, when you cut a chicken’s head off, it
runs round and round the farmyard?

Edmund: Yyyyyyyeah…

Baldrick: Well, we wait until our heads have been cut off, then we run
round and round the farmyard, out the farm gate, and escape.
What do you think?

Edmund: Yes… My opinions are rather difficult to express in words,
so perhaps I can put it this way… [tweaks Baldrick’s nose]

Baldrick: It doesn’t really matter, ’cause the Scarlet Pimpernel will save
us, anyway.

Edmund: No he won’t, Baldrick. Either I think up an idea, or, tomorrow,
we die — which, Baldrick, I have to tell you, I have no intention
of doing, because I want to be young and wild, and then I want to be
middle-aged and rich, and then I want to be old and annoy people by
pretending that I’m deaf. Just be quiet and let me think.

[Later that night, in the cell.]

Baldrick: I can’t sleep, Mr Blackadder…

Edmund: I said “Shut up”!

Baldrick: I’m so excited to think that the Scarlet Pimpernel will
be here at any moment!

Edmund: I wish you’d forget this ridiculous fantasy, Baldrick.
Even if he did turn up, the guards would be woken by the
scraping noise as he tried to squeeze his massive swollen head
through the door.

Baldrick: I couldn’t sleep when I was little.

Edmund: You still are little, Baldrick.

Baldrick: Yeah, well, when I was even littler, see, we used to live in
this haunted hovel. Every night, my family were troubled by
a visitation from this disgusting ghoul. It was terrible.
First there was this unholy smell, then this tiny, clammy,
hairy creature would materialise in the bed between them.
Fortunately, I could never see it, myself.

Edmund: Yes… Tell me, Baldrick: when you left home, did this repulsive
entity mysteriously disappear?

Baldrick: That very day…

Edmund: I think then that the mystery is solved. Now shut up. Either
I think up an idea, or, tomorrow, we meet our maker — in my case,
God; in your case, God knows … but I’d be surprised if he won
any design awards.

[camera view pans away from them, to the window]

Edmund: Wait a minute! I thought of a plan!

Baldrick: Hurray!

Edmund: Also, I thought of a way to get you to sleep!

Baldrick: What?

[THUNK!]

Baldrick: Oof!

[Morning, in the cell. The door opens, and Soldier enters.]

Soldier: Morning, scum… Did we sleep well, eh?

Edmund: Like a tot, thank you… But, by jiminy, you must be feeling
thirsty after your long night’s brutality! [He drops a suicide
pill into a cup of liquid, then proffers the cup.] Drink?

Soldier: Eu, non, merci… Not while I am on duty.

Edmund: Oh. Perhaps later.

Soldier: For you, monsieur, there is no later. [gets dramatic] Because,
gentlemen, I am proud to introduce France’s most [puts a hand on
his abdomen] vicious woman. Unexpectedly arrived from Paris
this morning, would you please welcome Madame Guillotine herself!
[bows aside, with an arm outstretched]

Guillotine: [enters, cackling, carrying a club with spikes, appears to have
blood on her arms; her face is obscured by her bonnet, and
she appears to be missing a front tooth]
Are these the English pigs?

Edmund: Yes, that’s us.

Guillotine: Leave them with me, Monsieur Ambassadeur. I intend to torture
them in a manner so unbearably gruesome, even you will not be
able to stand it!

Soldier: I don’t think I will have a problem, madame.

Guillotine: No, you will be sick.

Soldier: What if I stay for the first few minutes, and then I leave if
I’m feeling queasy?

Guillotine: No, you will be sick immediately.

Solider: What if I am sick quietly in a bag? I mean, what is in your mind?

[Guillotine whispers in Soldier’s ear.]

[Soldier goes into convulsions, and removes his hat as he leaves,
vomiting into it.]

Guillotine: [turns to Edmund] So! Scum! Prepare to be in pain!

Edmund: Yes, certainly. But first, perhaps, a toast: to your beauty!
[gives Guillotine the poisoned cup]

Guillotine: [tosses club aside] Oh, thank you. OK.
[drinks from cup]

Edmund: Cheers.

Guillotine: So, I expect you were expecting to be rescued, huh?!

Edmund: Hah — some bloody hope.

Guillotine: [voice suddenly a male voice]
On the contrary! I’m just sorry I’m so late!

Edmund: What!

[Guillotine removes her bonnet, revealing herself to be Lord Smedley]

Smedley: Yes, gentlemen, I have come to take you to freedom!

Baldrick: Hurray!

Edmund: My god! Smedley! But I thought you were an absolute [facit?]!

Smedley: No — just a damn fine actor! Thank god I got here before you
took any of those awful suicide pills!

Edmund: [looks down at the cups] Errrrrr, yes… I suppose if someone
had taken one and wished that he’d hadn’t, he’d be able to do
something about it…

Smedley: No, no — they’re very odd things, you see. The symptoms are
most peculiar. First of all, the victims become very very
depressed. [sits on the bed, face in his hands] Oh, god! [near
to tears] This whole revolution is so depressing, I mean,
sometimes I wonder why I bother… I mean, I’m so lonely, and
nobody loves me…

Edmund: …and after the depression comes death.

Smedley: No — after the depression comes [jumps off the bed and grabs
Edmund’s lapels, shouting] the loss of temper, you stuck-up
bastard!!! [turns to Baldrick] What you are staring at???
[punches Baldrick]

Edmund: …and after the >temper< comes death.

Smedley: No! After the temper comes the, er… comes the, er…

Edmund: …forgetfulness?

Smedley: Er, yes, that’s it… er… comes the, er…

Edmund: …forgetfulness.

Smedley: Yes, yes. Right in the middle of a…of a…thingy…
you completely forget what it was you…oh, nice pair of shoes!

Edmund: …and after the forgetfulness, you die.

Smedley: Oh, no! I forgot one! After the forgetfulness comes a moment of
exquisite happiness! [laughs, jumps up and down, waving his arms
in the air] Jumping up and down, and waving your arms in the air,
and knowing that in a minute we’re all going to be free! free!!
free!!!

Edmund: [getting tired of this] …and >then< death?

Smedley: No — you jump into a corner first.
[jumps into a corner; dies]

Baldrick: Hurray! It’s the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Edmund: Yes, Baldrick…

Baldrick: …and you killed him!

Edmund: Yes, Baldrick… I mean, what’s the bloody point of being the
Scarlet Pimpernel if you’re going to fall for the old poisoned-cup
routine? Scarlet Pimpernel, my foot! Scarlet Git, more like it!
[sees that the door is still ajar] But wait! Here’s our chance
to escape! Come on, quick!

Baldrick: But what about Mr Frou?

Edmund: Oh, forget Frou Frou. I wouldn’t pick my nose to save his life.
Now, come on. [begins to exit, but runs into Frou Frou]
Ah! Frou Frou, my old friend and comrade, w-what are you doing here?

Frou Frou: I escaped! What happened here?

Edmund: Oh, er, nothing, nothing… [closes cell door]

Frou Frou: Oh, I thought for a moment the Scarlet Pimpernel had
saved you…!

[Edmund chuckles nervously; looks at — and nudges — Baldrick.]

[Baldrick very badly fakes a laugh.]

[Scene change to Prince’s house. Prince nearly has his trousers
on. Edmund, Frou Frou and Baldrick enter.]

Prince: Ah, chaps! Good to see you. Just trying on the new trousers…

Edmund: I return, Sir, as promised, plus one toff French aristocrat fresh
from the Bastille.

Prince: [as Frou Frou bows] Ah! Please to meet you, monsieur. Do sit down.

Frou Frou: Enchante’… [goes to sit]

Prince: Damn sorry about the revolution and all that caper — most awfully
bad luck. [to Edmund] So, tell me, Blackadder: how the devil did
you get him out?

Edmund: Sir, it is an extraordinary tale of courage and heroism which
I blush from telling by myself, but seeing as there’s no one else–

Baldrick: I could try.

Edmund: [baps Baldrick on the back of the head]
We left England in good weather, but that was a far as our luck
held. In the middle of Dover Harbour, we were struck by a tidal
wave. I was forced to swim to Boulogne with the unconscious
Baldrick tucked into my trousers. Then, we were taken to Paris,
where I was summarily tried and condemned to death, and then hung by
the larger of my testicles from the walls of the Bastille.
It was then that I decided I had had enough.

Prince: Bravo!

Edmund: So, I rescued the count, killed the guards, jumped the moat,
ran to Versailles — where I climbed into Mr Robespierre’s
bedroom, leaving him a small tray of milk chocolates and an
insulting note. The rest was easy.

Prince: That is an incredible story — worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel
himself!

Edmund: Well, I wouldn’t know.

Frou Frou: I, on the other hand, would. [stands] Because, you see, Sir
[removes glasses, wig and false nose, revealing himself to be
Lord Topper], >I< am the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Edmund: Uh oh…

Baldrick: Hurray!

Prince: [standing] Good lord! Topper!

Topper: Yes, Your Highness.

Prince: Well, by gads and by jingo with dumplings, steak and kidneys,
and a good solid helping of sprouts! I can’t believe it!
>You’re< the fellow who has single-handedly saved all those
damned frenchies from the chop?

Topper: Not quite single-handedly, Sir. I operated with the help of my
friend, Smedley, but he seems to have disappeared for the moment,
slightly mysteriously.

[Baldrick gets ready to say something.]

Edmund: Shut up, Baldrick.

Baldrick: [line obscured by laughter]

Prince: So… So Blackadder rescued the Scarlet Pimpernel!

Topper: No, Sir, he did not.

Prince: Eh?

Topper: Prepare yourself for a story of dishonour and deceit that will make
your stomach turn.

Prince: Well, I say! [to Edmund] This is interesting, isn’t it, Blackadder?

[Edmund nods slowly.]

Topper: Not only that [turning and walking toward Edmund], but I trust it
will lead to the imprisonment of a man who is a liar, a bounder,
and a cad.

[Baldrick turns to look, with Topper, at Edmund.]

[Edmund turns to look behind himself.]

Prince: Well, bravo! because we hate liars, bounders and cads, don’t we,
Blackadder?

Edmund: Generally speaking…yes, Sir. [begins to serve drinks]
But perhaps before Lord Topper starts to talk, he might like
a glass of wine. [he has dropped a suicide pill into Topper’s
glass] He’s looking a little shaken.

Topper: [taking the glass] Shaken, but not stirred. [drinks]
[gives glass back to Edmund, who sniffs it]
[turns to Prince]
It all began last week. I was sitting in Mrs Miggins’ coffee shop
when…oh, god! [holds head in his hands] All this treachery is
so depressing… [shouts] I mean, the whole thing just makes you
incredibly angry!!! [swings at Baldrick, missing; Baldrick falls
over anyway; then Topper runs over to Prince] AND IT JUST MAKES
YOU WANT TO…oh, that’s a nice waistcoat, Your Majesty…
er…I’m sorry; I’ve completely forgotten what I was talking about.

Edmund: [grinning] Erm, a story of dishonour and deceit…

Topper: [smiles] Oh! That’s a great story! That’s great!!
Oh, that’s a WONDERFUL STORY!!! Let me just jump into
this corner first. [jumps into corner; dies]

Prince: [standing] Roast my raisins! He’s popped it! I say, Blackadder,
do you think he really was the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Edmund: Well, judging from the ridiculous ostentatiousness of his death,
I would say that he was.

Prince: Well, then, that’s a damn shame, because I wanted to give him this
enormous postal order. [holds it up]

Edmund: Please, Sir, let me finish. I would say that he was…>n’t<.
[deeply concentrating now] You see, the Scarlet Pimpernel would
never ever reveal his identity — that’s his great secret.
So, what you’re actually looking for is someone who has, say,
just been to France and rescued an aristocrat, but when asked
“Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?” he replies, “Absolutely not,”
Sir.

Prince: But, wait a minute! Blackadder, >you’ve< just been to France,
and you’ve rescued a French aristocrat… Oh, Blackadder!
Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel?

Edmund: Absolutely not, Sir.

Baldrick: Hurray!

[Prince, too excited for words, hands the postal order to Edmund,
who already has his hand waiting to take it.]

[final theme music, credits roll]

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 2 – Ink and Incapability Full Script

This is the full script for Blackadder Series 3 Episode 2. The Blackadder episode is called Ink and Incapability, and is centred around the thicky Prince being asked to be a patron to the first ever English dictionary. This gives Blackadder plenty of room to come up with some very memorable quotes!

Blackadder series 3 episode 2 ink and incapability

 

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 2 – Ink and Incapability Full Script

 

Cast –

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 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?

Something is always wrong Balders

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.

read the full script for Blackadder Series 3 Episode 2 at Blackadder Quotes

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.

Blackadder quote from Series 3 Episode 2.

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 contrafribularities.

J: What?

E: `Contrafribularities’, 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 interfrrastically. (exits) (J writes some
more)

What a wonderful word! This is from Blackadder series 3 episode 2 called Ink and Incapability. Read the full script for this Blackadder episode at Blackadder Quotes.

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)

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 1 Dish and Dishonesty Full Script

The third series of Blackadder is set in a period of time known as the Regency. Blackadder has been reduced in social status to being the Butler of the Prince Regent. Baldrick is of course at the bottom of the social ladder, being a dogsbody once more. Episode 1 of Blackadder Series 3 is based upon an election in a rotten borough – not a rubber button.

Dish and Dishonesty - Blackadder Series 3 Episode 1

 

Blackadder Series 3 Episode 1 Dish and Dishonesty Full Script

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.

Give the likes of Baldrick the viote - This Blackadder quote sums up 2016 in a nutshell!

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 rubber
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 rubber 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

Blackadder series 3 episode 1

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.

Blackadder series 3 episode 1

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.

If you want something done properly, kill Baldrick before you start | Blackadder Quotes

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)

Blackadder Series 3 – Blackadder the Third / Blackadder Season 3

Blackadder season 3 stars Rowan Atkinson, Tony Robinson, and Hugh Laurie. Blackadder is reduced to the status of butler, whilst Hugh Laurie plays a foppish Prince.

Blackadder Season 3 Cast and Episodes

Blackadder Season 3

Blackadder series 3 is also known as Blackadder the Third. Set during the British Regency era, Blackadder is reduced in social status to being the butler of the Prince Regent.

Baldrick, in a strange irony, has actually been elevated in social status from a serf to a ‘dogsbody’. He is still the butt of many Blackadder jokes though!

The Baldrick Irony joke from season 3

Hugh Laurie in Blackadder Series 3

American fans of TV show House are always surprised to find that Hugh Laurie played a major role in Blackadder season 3.

As the foppish, stupid Prince Regent, his character is miles away from Dr. House!

Hugh Laurie in Blackadder

Blackadder Series 3 – Blackadder the Third

The third series of Blackadder, is set in the late 18th and early 19th century period.

Only two characters make it through from Blackadder (The Blackadder) and Blackadder II. These are Blackadder himself, and Baldrick.

The ‘core’ group of other central characters in Blackadder Series 3, are completed with the Prince Regent, and Mrs. Miggins.

Blackadder Series 3 Quotes

As with the other two series of Blackadder, each episode features a guest star.

Whilst each star is excellent in their own way, it is Stephen Fry as the Duke of Wellington who really stands out.

Blackadder series 3 funny quotes
Blackadder the Third

Blackadder series 3 follows in the footsteps of series 2, by brilliantly blending great comedy with the contemporary issues of the time.

It is the source of many funny Blackadder quotes, in particular from the bumbling Prince Regent.

The way this character is played by Hugh Laurie is massively different from his other role as House, for which he is more famous in the United States.

Blackadder Series 3 Episode List

  1. Dish and Dishonesty
  2. Ink and Incapability
  3. Nob and Nobility
  4. Sense and Senility
  5. Amy and Amiability
  6. Duel and Duality

Mrs Miggins from Blackadder Series 3

Full Cast List for Blackadder Series 3

  • Rowan Atkinson – Edmund Blackadder, butler to the Prince / … (6 episodes, 1987)
  • Tony Robinson – Baldrick, a dogsbody / … (6 episodes, 1987)
  • Hugh Laurie – The Prince Regent, their master (6 episodes, 1987)
  • Helen Atkinson Wood – Mrs. Miggins, a coffee shoppekeeper (6 episodes, 1987)
  • Robbie Coltrane –  Dr. Samuel Johnson, in the funny Blackadder dictionary episode(1 episode, 1987)
  • Hugh Paddick –  Keanrick, thespian (1 episode, 1987)
  • Kenneth Connor –  Mossop, thespian (1 episode, 1987)
  • Stephen Fry –  The Duke of Wellington, a famous soldier (1 episode, 1987)
  • Vincent Hanna –  Mr. Vincent Hanna, his own great great great grandfather (1 episode, 1987)
  • Tim McInnerny –  Lord Topper, fop (1 episode, 1987)
  • Miranda Richardson –  Amy Hardwood, the elusive Shadow (1 episode, 1987)
  • Warren Clarke –  Mr. Hardwood, her father (1 episode, 1987)
  • Lee Cornes –  Shelley, romantic junkie poet (1 episode, 1987)
  • Gertan Klauber –  King George III, a mad Monarch (1 episode, 1987)
  • Denis Lill –  Sir Talbot Buxomly, a member of Parliament (1 episode, 1987)
  • Nigel Planer –  Lord Smedley, fop (1 episode, 1987)
  • Chris Barrie –  Ambassador, a fearsome revolutionary (1 episode, 1987)
  • Ben Elton –  Anarchist (1 episode, 1987)
  • Barbara Horne –  Sally Cheapside, a young lady of doubtful virtue (1 episode, 1987)
  • Simon Osborne –  Pitt the Younger, the Prime Minister (1 episode, 1987)
  • Steve Steen –  Byron, romantic junkie poet (1 episode, 1987)
  • Roger Avon –  The Duke of Cheapside, her father (1 episode, 1987)
  • Geoffrey McGivern –  Ivor Biggun, a candidate (1 episode, 1987)
  • Jim Sweeney –  Coleridge, romantic junkie poet (1 episode, 1987)
  • Dominic Martelli –  Pitt the even Younger, a tiny whig (1 episode, 1987)