[Baldrick is in the kitchen. Blackadder storms in, picks up the cat and drop-kicks it]
Sir! Poor little Mildred the cat, what's he ever done to you?
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 squeak] pounces on the mouse and, finally, [Baldrick squeals in pain] the mouse bites you on the behind.
And what do I do?
Nothing, you are last in God's great chain. Unless there's an earwig around here you'd like to victimize. My God, Baldrick - what's happened to your nose?
[sporting the most hideous purple blister] Nice, isn't it?
No, Baldrick. It isn't. It's revolting.
I'll take it off then. [rather unexpectedly, he simply peels off the blister]
Baldrick, why are you wearing a false boil? What are we to expect next? A beauty wart? A cosmetic veruca?
It's a Scarlet Pimple, sir.
Really?
They're all the rage down our way. Everyone wants to express their admiration for the great Pimple and his brilliant disguises.
What has this fellow done, apart from pop over to France to grab a few French nobs from the ineffectual clutches of a bunch of malnourished winging 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 of Agincourt? Was the man who burnt Joan of Arc simply wasting good matches? [a bell rings] Ah! His Royal Highness the Pinhead of Wales summons. And, you know. I feel almost well disposed towards him: utter chump though he may be, at least he's not French.
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