Ah, Qveen Elizabeth, we meet again.
Um, I don't think so, actually.
Yes, you remember when you were young, and your father used to take you riding on a magnificent grey pony that you used to kiss and fondle in the stable yards?
I...I was the tall and attractive German stable lad who held him.
NO! No, no, no! You will, all of you, regret the day that you ever mocked my complexion! I shall return and wreak my rewengee! [leaves]
You will die and be dead! [throws a knife at Ludwig offscreen]
Welcome, Edmund. Did you...miss me?
I certainly did. Many is the time I said to myself "I wish Percy was here..."
"...being tortured instead of me."
[still ecstatic] Oh, we have missed your wit!
Did you miss me, my lord?
And me? Did you miss me, Edmund?
Madame, life without you was like a broken pencil.
[She smiles]
[Last lines; after the credits, we find Blackadder, Percy, Elizabeth, Nursie, Baldrick, and Lord Melchett all died by being stabbed with a knife. We turn to Prince Ludwig, somehow survived the attack, disguised himself as Queen Elizabeth]
[laughs evily; to the audience] Now this is the disguise I'm going to really enjoy, if I could just get the voice right.
[First lines]
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.
Has there been a general election, Mr. Blackadder?
Indeed there has, Mrs. Miggins.
Of course you didn't. You're not eligible to vote.
Because virtually no one is - women...peasants... [gestures to Baldrick] Chimpanzees...lunatics...lords.
That's not true - Lord Nelson's got a vote.
He's got a boat, Baldrick. Marvelous thing, democracy. Look at Manchester - population: sixty-thousand, electoral roll: three.
I may have a brain the size of a sultana...
...But it hardly seems fair to me.
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 with druids, death by stoning and dung for dinner.
I'm having dung for dinner tonight.
So, who are they electing when they have these elections?
Oh, the same old shower. Fat Tory landowners who get made MPs when they reach a certain weight. Raving revolutionaries who think 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.
You'd better watch out, Mr. Blackadder - things are bound to change.
Not while Pitt the Elder's Prime Minister, they aren't. He's about as effective as a cat flap 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.
Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. "Name"?
BBBlackadder and Baldrick
Baldrick.
Well, it might be Sodoff.
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".
...All right, right, right, right. "Mr. S. Baldrick". Now then, "Distinguishing features"...None.
Well, I've got this big growth in the middle of my face.
That's your nose, Baldrick. "Any history of insanity in the family?" I'll cross out the "in". [does this act] "Any history of sanity in the family?" ...None whatsoever. "Criminal record?"
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?"
One turnip. Oh, hang on, I don't want to price myself out of the market.
Baldrick, I've always been meaning to ask: do you have any ambitions in life apart from the acquisition of turnips?
So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?
[grins] I'd get a little turnip of my own.
So what would you do if I gave you a million pounds?
Oh, that's different. I'd get a great big turnip in the country.
[enters, accompanied by Pitt the Younger] Your Highness, Pitt the Younger.
Why, hello there, young shaver m'lad! Say, I have a shiny sixpence for the clever fellow who can tell which hand it's in. [Pitt doesn't respond] Oh, school, school. On half hols, is it? I bet you can't wait to get that bat back in your hand and give those balls a good walloping, eh?
Mister Pitt is the Prime Minister, sir.
Oh, go on! Is he? What, young Snotty here?
PYPitt the Younger
I'd rather have a runny nose than a runny brain.
Excuse me, Mister Prime Minister, but we have some lovely jelly in the pantry - I don't know if you'd be interested at all.
PYPitt the Younger
Don't patronize me, you lower middle class yobbo. What flavour is it?
PYPitt the Younger
EURGH!
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 toast rack!
PYPitt the Younger
You don't surprise me, sir - I know your sort. Once, it was I who stood in the cold schoolroom, a hot crumpet burning my cheeks with shame. But since that day, I have been busy every hour God sends, working to become Prime Minister, and fight sloth and privilege wherever I find it!
I trust you weren't too busy to remove the crumpet.
PYPitt the Younger
You will regret this, gentlemen! You think you can thwart my plans to bankrupt the Prince by winning the Dunny-On-The-Wold by-election...but you will be thrashed! I intend to put my own brother up as a candidate against you.
And which Pitt would this be? Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt the Glint in the Milkman's Eye?
PYPitt the Younger
Sirs, as I said to Chancellor Metternich at the Congress of Strasbourg, pooh to you with knobs on! We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings! [leaves]
I say, Blackadder, what a ghastly squit! He's not gonna win, is he?
No, sir, because, firstly, we shall be fighting this campaign on issues, not personalities. Secondly, we shall be the only fresh thing on the menu. And thirdly, of course, we'll cheat!
[waking suddenly] Oh, Blackadder! BLACKADDER! [Blackadder walks in]
[enters with the tray] Your Highness?
Three o'clock in the afternoon, sire.
[relieved] Oh thank God for that, I thought I'd overslept!
I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir?
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!
An absurd suggestion, sir.
You're right, it is absurd.
Unless, of course, it was a particularly stupid donkey.
See, if only I'd thought of that.
It is all too often, sir, that one thinks of what one should have said long after he might have said it. Sir Thomas More, for instance, beheaded for refusing to recant his Catholicism, must have been kicking himself as the axe came down that it never occurred to him to say "I recant my Catholicism."
Yes. 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 have been to have said "Oh, bugger off, you old fart!". I want to improve my mind, Blackadder. I want people to say "That George, he's as clever as a stick in a bucket of pig swill!".
And how do you suggest this miracle be achieved, sir?
Easy. I shall become best friends with the cleverest man in England. That renowned brain-box, Doctor Samuel Johnson, has asked me to be patron of his new book, and I intend to accept.
Would this be the long-awaited dictionary?
Who cares what it's called, as long as it's got plenty of juicy murders. I hear it's a masterpiece.
No, sir. It's the most pointless book since How To Learn French was translated into French.
You haven't got anything personal against Johnson, have you, Blackadder?
Not at all, sir. In fact, I had never heard of him until you mentioned him just now.
But you do think he's a genius, don't you?
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 sweaty dew flaps."
Close shave there, then. Lucky you warned me, Blackadder. I was about to embrace this unholy arse to the royal bosom.
I am delighted to have been instrumental in keeping your bosom free of arses.
Bravo. Don't want to waste my time with wobblebottoms. Fetch some tea, will you?
Oh, and make it two cups, would you? That splendid brain-box, Doctor Johnson, is coming over.
Oh, something's always wrong, Balders. 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.
I thought he was the cleverest man in England.
Baldrick, I'd bump into cleverer people at a lodge meeting of the Guild of Village Idiots.
That’s not what you said when you sent him your navel.
Novel, Baldrick, not navel. I sent him my novel.
Well, novel or navel, it sounds a bit like a bag of grapefruits to me.
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"!
Yes, I gave myself a female pseudonym. Everybody's doing it these days: Mrs. Radcliffe, Jane Austen...
What, Jane Austen's a man?!
Of course! A huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush!
Oh, quite a small one, then?
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.
Perhaps your book really isn't any good?
Oh, codswallop! It's taken me seven years, and it's perfect. Edmund: A Butler's Tale. A giant rollercoaster of a novel in 400 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.
And this... [takes a small piece of paper out of his trousers] is mine. My "magnificent octopus".
[inspecting it] This is your novel, Baldrick?
Yeah, I can't stand long books.
[reading] "Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called Baldrick, and it lived happily ever after."
It's semi-autobiographical.
And it's completely, utterly awful. Doctor Johnson will probably love it.
So, Doctor Johnson, sit ye down. Now, this book of yours, what's it about?
It is a book about the English language, sir.
I see. And the hero's name is what?
No hero? Lucky I reminded you, then. Uh, call him George. 'George' is a nice name for a hero. Now, what about heroines?
There is no heroine, sir, unless it is our mother tongue.
The mother's the heroine? Nice twist. So, how far have we got? Old Mother Tongue is in love with George the Hero. Now, what about murders? Mother Tongue doesn't get murdered, does she?
No, she doesn't. No one gets murdered, or married, or in a tricky situation over a pound note!
Now, Doctor Johnson, I may be as thick as a whale omelette, but even I know a book's got to have a plot.
Not this one, sir. It is a book that tells you what English words mean.
I know what English words mean. I speak English. You must be a bit of a thicko.
Perhaps you would rather not be patron of my book if you can see no value in it whatsoever, sir.
Well, perhaps so, sir! Because it seems to me that my being patron of this complete cowpat of a book will set to seal, once and for all, my reputation as an utter turnip head!
It is a reputation well-deserved, sir! Farewell!
Baldrick, where's the manuscript?
You mean the big papery thing tied up with string?
Yes, Baldrick, the manuscript belonging to Doctor Johnson.
You mean the baity fellow in the black coat who just left?
Yes, Baldrick, Doctor Johnson.
So you're asking where the big papery thing tied up with string belong to the baity fellow in the black coat who just left is?
Yes, Baldrick, I am. And if you don't answer, then the booted boney thing with five toes on 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 Doctor Johnson's manuscript?
The hot orangey thing under the stoney mantlepiece.
[enraged] You've burnt the dictionary?!
You've burnt the life's work of England's foremost man of letters?!
Well, you did say 'burn any old rubbish.'
[calmly remembers] Yes. Fine.
Isn't it, uh - isn't it going to be a bit difficult for me to patronize this book if we've burnt it?
[pause] Yes, it is, sir. But if you would excuse me a moment...
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!
Baldrick, would you join me in the vestibule? [the pair leave the room, and he closes the doors behind him; immediately after doing so, he forcefully and firmly grabs Baldrick by the shoulders, and pushes him down the length of the hallway] 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.
Because you burnt it, Baldrick!
But then I'll go to hell forever for stealing.
Baldrick, believe me: eternity in the company of Beelzebub and all his hellish instruments of death will be a picnic compared to five minutes with me... [produces a pencil from his coat]...and this pencil...if we can't replace this dictionary. Now, come on...
SLord Shelley
O lovelorn ecstasy that i,s Mrs. Miggins, wilt thou bring me but one cup of the browned juicings of that naughty bean we call coffee, 'ere I die?
Oh, you do have a way with words about you, Mr. Shelley!
BLord Byron
To hell with this fine talk! Coffee, woman! My consumption grows ever more acute, and Coleridge's drugs are wearing off!
Oh, Mr. Byron, don't be such a big girl's blouse!
Sir, I have been unable to replace the dictionary. I am therefore leaving immediately for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat.
Because if I stay here, Doctor Johnson and his companions will have me brutally murdered.
Good god, Blackadder, that's terrible! Do you know any other butlers?
Of course, when the people discover that you have burnt Doctor Johnson's dictionary, they may go around saying "Look, there's Thick George. He's got a brain the size of a weasel's wedding tackle."
Well, in that case, something must be done!
I have a cunning plan, sir.
Hurrah! Well, that's that, then.
I wouldn't get too excited, sir. I have a strong suspicion 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 is a virgin. Poke my eye out and cut off my arm if I'm wrong."
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.
Well, not the same ones, of course-
Yes, I think I'm on the verge of spotting the flaw in this plan. But do go on. Which pages?
Well, this is the brilliant bit - you write some new ones.
Some new ones. You mean rewrite the dictionary. I sit down tonight and rewrite the dictionary that took Doctor Johnson ten years.
Baldrick, that is by far and away, and without a shadow of doubt, the worst and most contemptible plan in the history of the universe. On the other hand, I hear the sound of disemboweling cutlasses being sharpened, and it's the only plan we've got.
We didn't take no for an answer and have, in fact, been working all night. I've done 'B'.
Really? And how far have you gotten?
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]
You've been working on that joke for some time, haven't you, sir?
Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have.
So, in fact, you haven't done any work at all?
Great. Baldrick, what have you done?
Right, let's have it then.
Right. "Big, blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in."
Yes. Tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren't high. What about 'D'?
I'm quite pleased with 'dog'.
Yes, and your definition of 'dog' is?
Excellent. Excellent! Your Highness, may I have a word?
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.
That's right, Blackadder, and I thank you for it.
But I'm afraid, sir, there's been a change in plans. I'm off to the kitchen to hack my head off with a big knife.
Oh, come on, Blackadder! It's only a book! Let's just damn the fellow's eyes, strip the britches from his backside and ward his heels to Putney Bridge! Hurrah!
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.
Alright then, well, 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]
[sotto] You're not, you're German. Get me some coffee, Baldrick. If I fall asleep before Monday, we're doomed.
SLord Shelley
Ho, sir, bring out the dictionary at once!
BLord Byron
Bring it out, sir, or in my passion, I shall kill everyone by giving them syphilis!
CLord Coleridge
Bring it out, sir, and also any opium plants you have in there with you!
DSDoctor Samuel Johnson
Bring it out, sir, or we shall break down the door!
Ah, good morning, Dr. Johnson, Lord Byron-
And what dictionary would this be?
[Johnson, Byron, Shelley and Coleridge advance on Blackadder with swords drawn to the tune of an ominous drumbeat]
[outraged] The one that has taken me eighteen hours of every day for the past ten years! My mother died, I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it in garlic in the hopes 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 cared not!
[cornered] Am I to assume that my elaborate bluff has not worked?
Right, well, the truth is - now, don't get cross, don't over-react - the truth is: we burnt it.
[Blackadder cowers as they were about to attack]
[enters with the same dictionary] Morning, everyone. Ah, Doctor Johnson. You know, this dictionary really is a cracking good read!
[relieved] My dictionary... [to Blackadder] But you said you burnt it!
I think it's a splendid book, and I look forward to patronizing it enormously!
Oh, thank you, sir. Well, I think I'm man enough to sacrifice the pleasure of killing to maintain the general good humour. There is to be no murder today, gentlemen. [they grumble] But retire to Mrs. Miggins'! I shall join you there later for a roister you shan't forget!
SBShelley, Byron and Coleridge
Hurrah! [leave]
So, tell me, what words particularly interested you?
Oh, nothing. Anything, really.
I see you've underlined a few. "Bloomers"? "Bottom"? "Burp"? [reads through the pages] "Fart"? "Fiddle"? "Fornicate"? Sir, I hope you are not using the first English dictionary to look up rude words!
I wouldn't be too hopeful. That's what all the others will be used for.
[to Blackadder] Sir, can I look up 'turnip'?
'Turnip' isn't a rude word, Baldrick.
