Blackadder quotes from Blackadder

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

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

Percy

Sorry I'm late!

Oh, don't bother apologising. I'm sorry you're alive.

Percy

Not bad, Edmund. Ah, I see the target's ready. I'd like to see the Spaniard who could make his way past me.

Well, go to Spain. There are millions of them.

Percy

I advise them to stay there then, keep their hands off our women.

Oh god, who is she this time?

Percy

I don't know what you mean.

[swipes the pink note sticking out of Percy's tunic, opens it and kicks Percy when he tries to take it back] Ah, and who is Jane?

Percy

I am sworn to secrecy. Torture me, kill me, you shall never know. [Blackadder, without looking, kicks him in the groin] Jane Harrington! We are very much in love, my lord.

This is the Jane Harrington?

Percy

Yes.

Jane "Bury-Me-In-A-Y-Shaped-Coffin" Harrington?

Percy

Um, I think maybe there are two Jane Harringtons.

No, tall, blonde, elegant?

Percy

That's right.

Goes like a privy door when the plague's in town?

Percy

My lord!

Go on, get on with your shot. You'll get over her. I did. [Percy, breathing heavily to calm himself, readies his shot] So did Baldrick, actually.

Percy

Damn!

See, she's got this thing about beards, apparently.

Percy

Well, in that case, I'm going to shave!

Baldrick

I've got nowhere to go, my lord.

Oh, surely you'll be allowed to starve to death in one of the royal parks?

Baldrick

I've been in your service since I was two-and-a-half, my lord.

Well, that must be why I'm so utterly sick of the sight of you.

Baldrick

Couldn't I just stay here and do the same job but for no wages?

Well, you know where you'd have to live.

Baldrick

In the gutter.

Yes. And you'd have to work a bit harder, too.

Baldrick

Of course.

Now then, what seems to be the problem?

Well, it's my manservant.

I see. Well, don't be embarrassed. If you've got the pox, just pop your, er, manservant on the table and we'll take a look at it.

No, I mean, it's my real manservant.

Uh-huh. And what's wrong with him?

There's nothing wrong with him. That's the problem. He's perfect. And last night, I almost kissed him.

I see. So you've started fancying boys, then?

Not boys, a boy.

Yes, well, let's not split hairs. It's all rather disgusting, and, naturally, you're worried.

Of course I'm worried!

Of course you are. It isn't every day a man wakes up to discover he's a screaming bender with no more right to live on God's clean Earth than a weasel. Ashamed of yourself?

Not really, no.

Bloody hell, I would be. Still, why should I complain? Just leaves more rampant totty for us real men.

Look, am I paying for this abuse or is it extra?

No, all part of the service. I think you're in luck, though. An extraordinary new cure has just been found for exactly this kind of sick and sordid problem.

It wouldn't have anything to do with leeches, would it?

I had no idea you were a medical man.

I've never had anything you doctors didn't try to cure with leeches. A leech on my ear for earache, a leech on my bottom for constipation.

They're marvelous, aren't they?

Well, the bottom one wasn't. I just sat down and squashed it.

You know, the leech comes to us on the highest authority.

Yes, I'd heard that. Doctor Hoffmann of Stuttgart, I believe.

That's right, the great Hoffmann.

Owner of the largest leech farm in Europe.

Yes. Well, I can't spend all day gossiping. I'm a busy man. As far as this case is concerned, I've now had time to think it over, and I can strongly recommend...

A course of leeches.

Just pop a couple down my codpiece before I go to bed?

No, no, no. Don't be ridiculous. This isn't the Dark Ages. Just pop four in your mouth in the morning and let them dissolve slowly. In a couple of weeks, you'll be beating your servant with a stick just like the rest of us.

You're just an old quack, aren't you?

I'd rather be a quack than a ducky. Good day!

Tell me, young crone, is this Putney?

[cackling] That it be! That it be!

[annoyed] "Yes, it is," not "That it be". And you don't have to talk in that stupid voice to me, I'm not a tourist! I seek information about a Wise Woman.

The Wise Woman? The Wise Woman?!

Yes. The Wise Woman.

Two things, my Lord, must ye know of the Wise Woman. First...she is a woman! And second...she is...

Wise?

[normal] You do know her, then?

No, just a wild stab in the dark - which, incidentally, is what you'll be getting if you don't start being a bit more helpful! Do you know where she lives?

'Course.

Where?

'Ere. Do you have an appointment?

No.

Oh...you can go in anyway.

Thank you, young crone. Here is a purse of monies... [she tries to grab it] which I'm not going to give to you. [walks in]

Hail, Edmund, Lord of Adders Black!

Hello.

Step no nearer, for already I see thy bloody purpose. Thou plottest, Blackadder. Thou wouldst be king and drown Middlesex in a butte of wine! [cackling]

No, it's far worse than that. I'm in love with my manservant.

Oh, well, I'd sleep with him if I were you.

What?

When I fancy people, I sleep with them. Oh, I have to drug them first, of course, being so old and warty.

But what about my position, my social life?

Very well. Three other paths are open to you. Three cunning plans to cure thy ailment.

Oh, good.

The first is simple - kill Bob!

Never!

Then try the second - kill yourself.

Mmm, and the third?

The third is to ensure that no one else ever knows.

Ah, that sounds more like it. How?

Kill everybody in the whole world! [cackling]

Uh-huh. [leaves]

You'll make a lovely bridesmaid, Baldrick. It's a pity I don't have any girl chums, because we were so poor growing up, we couldn't afford friends.

It is strangely in keeping with the manner of our courtship that your maid of honour should be a man.

Baldrick

Thank you, my lord.

Well, I use the word 'man' in its broadest possible sense. For as we all know, God made man in His own image. It'd be a sad lookout for Christians around the globe if God looked anything like you, Baldrick.

Ignore old Mister Grumpy. There you are, Balders. [kisses him on the cheek] You look sweet as a little pie.

Kate, he looks like what he is, a dungball in a dress.

Right Baldrick, let's try again, shall we? This is called adding. [gestures to the beans on the table] If I have two beans, and then I add two more beans, what do I have?

Baldrick

Some beans.

[smiles] Yes. And no. Let's try again, shall we? I have two beans, then I add two more beans. What does that make?

Baldrick

A very small casserole.

[impatiently] Baldrick, the ape-creatures of the Indus have mastered this. Now try again. [helps him count] One, two, three, four. So how many are there?

Baldrick

Three.

What?

Baldrick

And that one.

Three and 'that one'. [waves the fourth bean in front of Baldrick's face] So if I add that one to the three, what will I have?

Baldrick

Oh! Some beans.

[pause] Yes. To you, Baldrick, the Renaissance was just something that happened to other people, wasn't it?

What are you wearing around your neck?

Percy

Ah, it's my new ruff!

You look like a bird who's swallowed a plate.

Percy

It's the latest fashion, actually, and as a matter of fact, it makes me look rather sexy!

To another plate-swallowing bird, perhaps. If it was blind and hadn't had it in months.

Percy

I think you may be wrong.

You're a sad, laughable figure, aren't you, Percy? Baldrick, what do you think of Percy's new ruff?

Baldrick

Four!

What?

Baldrick

Some beans and some beans is four beans.

No, now we've moved on from advanced mathematics, we're on to elementary dress-making. What do you think of Percy's new ruff?

Baldrick

I think he looks like a bird who's swallowed a plate, my Lord.

No, that's what I think. What do you think? Try to have a thought of your own, Baldrick; thinking is so important. What do you think?

Baldrick

I think thinking is so important, my Lord.

I give up! I'm off to see the Queen.

Percy

Should I come too?

No, best not. People might think we're friends. You stay here with Baldrick. Bird-Neck and Bird-Brain should get on like a house on fire.

And you are?

Gaoler, sir! My Lord.

Very good! And your name is?

Ploppy, sir.

Ploppy?

That's right, sir.

Ploppy...the gaoler.

That's right, sir! Ploppy, son of Ploppy.

Ploppy, son of Ploppy the gaoler.

Arr no, sir. I am the first Ploppy to rise to be gaoler. My father, Daddy Ploppy was known as Ploppy the Slopper. It was from him that I inherited my fascinating skin diseases.

Yes you are to be congratulated, Ploppy. We live in an age where illness and deformity are commonplace and yet you are without doubt, Ploppy, the most repulsive individual I've had the pleasure of meeting. I'd shake your hand but I fear it would come off.

There's no many bosses that'd be that considerate, sir.

Now then, woman - if indeed, you are a woman - what is your function on Death Row?

I'm the last meal cook, sir. The prisoners may ask me for what they fancy for their last meal.

And you cook for them what they desire?

Oh, yes sir...provided what they ask for is sausages. Otherwise, they tend to get a tiny bit disappointed; sausages is all I got.

You are clearly a woman of principle and compassion, Mistress...ah...

Ploppy, sir.

Ah, so you are married to...? [gestures towards Ploppy the gaoler]

No, no.

No, many people think that, but it's pure coincidence. We did laugh when first we found out! "Good morning, Mistress Ploppy", he'd say, and I'd say "good morning..."

[in unison] "...Mr. Ploppy!" [both laugh]

The long winter evenings must just fly by.

Ah, and you must be the boy who makes the tea.

Oh no, sir! He's the executioner...but, he does sometimes make the tea.

Yes, and your name is...?

Baldrick

Baldrick, my lord. [Blackadder lifts the executioner's hood to reveal Baldrick's face] But I'll change it to Ploppy if it'll make things easier.

No thank you, I can cope with more than one name. What are you doing here?

Baldrick

Well... [shrugs] it's a hobby.

It would be more fun, sir, if he were to change his name. Give the place a more family atmosphere.

A "family atmosphere"?! This is meant to be a place of pain and misery and sorrow!

That's what I mean, sir.

Ah, Mistress Ploppy is a bit of a social realist, sir.

Now. I want to run a fast, efficient operation and I intend to do as little work as possible. My deputy Percy here will explain.

Percy

[gets on a box] Good afternoon, staff. My name is Lord Percy. If you play fair by me, you'll find me a considerable employer. But if you cross me, by Jove-!

Just tell them the plan, duckface.

Baldrick! That Farrow bloke you executed today, you sure he's dead?

Baldrick

I chopped his head off. That usually does the trick.

Yes, don't get clever with me. I just thought you might've lopped off a leg or something by mistake.

Baldrick

No, the thing I chopped off had a nose.

Right, Baldrick, is that all clear?

Baldrick

Yes. Um, I've killed someone I shouldn't have killed, and now you want me to put a lady on my head and talk to his old bag.

I want you to put a bag on your head and talk to his old lady.

Baldrick

Oh. Why do I want a bag on my head?

In order, nincompoop, that she should believe that you're her husband.

Baldrick

What, did he used to wear a bag on his head?

Young Ploppy here has a point, my lord. Lord Farrow never wore a bag. He was an old-fashioned sort of a gent.

Percy

Well, yes, my lord. I mean, I hadn't meant to mention it, but I had been wondering all along why you should think Baldrick with a bag on his head is going to be a dead ringer for Lord Farrow, because he's not!

Look, cretins, the bag is there to conceal Baldrick's own features, and many might think, incidentally, that that might be reason enough for him to wear it! Before I bring in Lady Farrow, I shall explain to her, inventing some cunningly plausible excuse, that her husband has taken to wearing a bag. She can then chat to Baldrick, imagining him to be the man she married, and the Queen need never know of my little miscalculation.

Why, my lord, that is a brilliant plan.

Percy

Foolproof.

You're very kind.

Although, there is something lurking in the back of my head that bothers me...

It's probably a flea.