[User] Oh, yes, yes, yes, but what are they going to do about my socks!

[Assistant] Sir, if this bill goes through, you won’t have any socks.


[User] Well, I haven’t got any socks at the moment!

[Assistant] …or trousers, shirts, waistcoats, or pantaloons. They’re going to bankrupt you.


[User] 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!’

[Assistant] `We hate Prince George’, sir. `We hate Prince George!’


[User] Was it?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well, hurrah! Any ideas?

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


[User] Never heard of him.

[Assistant] That’s hardly surprising, sir. Sir Talbot has the worst attendance 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.


[User] Well, what’s he like?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Excellent! Sensible policies for a happier Britain!

[Assistant] However, if we are to get him to support us, he will need some sort of incentive.


[User] Hmm. Anything in mind?

[Assistant] Well, you could appoint him a High Court judge…


[User] Is he qualified?

[Assistant] He’s a violent, bigoted, mindless old fool.


[User] Sounds a bit overqualified… Well, send him here at once!

[Assistant] Certainly, sir. I will return before you can say `antidisestablishment- arianism’.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] He’s dead, sir.


[User] Dead?

[Assistant] Yes, Your Highness.


[User] Oh, what bad luck; we were rather getting on.

[Assistant] We must move at once.


[User] In which direction?

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


[User] Really! Is it! Well, lucky-lucky us. Lucky-lucky-luck. Luck-luck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck- cluck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK.

[Assistant] You don’t know what a rotten borough is, do you, sir.


[User] No.

[Assistant] So what was the chicken impression in aid of?


[User] Well, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Erm, so, what is a rubber button?

[Assistant] Rotten borough.


[User] Oh, yes, you’re right.

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


[User] Good, yes…and a rubber button is…?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] So, no people at all, then? apart from Colin…

[Assistant] Colin is a dog, sir.


[User] Well, yes, yes, yes…

[Assistant] Only one actual person lives there, and he is the voter.


[User] Well, right! So, what’s the plan?

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


[User] A thousand pounds? I thought you said it was a…`tuppenny ha’penny’ place.

[Assistant] Well, yes, sir, the land will cost tuppence-ha’penny, but there are many other factors to be considered: duty, window tax, swamp insurance, hen food, dog biscuits, cow — the expenses are endless.


[User] Fine. Well, the money’s in my desk.

[Assistant] No, sir — it’s in my wallet.


[User] Oh, splendid! No time to lose, eh?

[Assistant] My thoughts precisely, sir. The only question is who to choose as MP.


[User] Yeah, tricky.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well…any thoughts?

[Assistant] Yes, Your Highness.


[User] You rang, My Lord?

[Assistant] Meet the new member of Parliament for Dunny-on-the-Wold.


[User] But he’s an absolute arsehead!

[Assistant] 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. Right. Now all we have to do is fill in this MP application form. Name: `Baldrick’. First name…?


[User] Er, I’m not sure.

[Assistant] Well, you must have some idea…


[User] Well, it might be `Sod off’.

[Assistant] What?


[User] 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.”

[Assistant] All right, right right right right, `Mr. S. Baldrick’. Now; distinguishing features… `None’.


[User] Well, I’ve got this big growth in the middle of my face.

[Assistant] 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…


[User] Absolutely not.

[Assistant] 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…


[User] One turnip. Oh, hang on, I don’t want to price myself out of the market.

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


[User] Er, no.

[Assistant] So what would you do if I gave you a thousand pounds?


[User] I’d get a little turnip of my own.

[Assistant] So what would you do if I gave you a million pounds?


[User] Oh, that’s different. I’d get a great big turnip in the country.

[Assistant] Oh God, I’ll get that. Here , sign here. Your Highness; Pitt the Younger.


[User] 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. 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?

[Assistant] Mr. Pitt is the Prime Minister, sir.


[User] Eh?

[Assistant] 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…?


[User] Don’t patronise me, you lower middle class yobbo! What flavour is it?

[Assistant] Blackcurrant.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] I trust you weren’t too busy to remove the crumpet…


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Oh, and which Pitt would this be: Pitt the Toddler? Pitt the Embryo? Pitt the Glint in the Milkman’s Eye?


[User] I say, Blackadder, what a ghastly ! He’s not going to win, is he?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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 commented on his policies in this campaign, but with him is his election agent, Mr. E. Blackadder.

[Assistant] Well, we in the Adder Party are going to fight this campaign on issues, not personalities.


[User] Why is that?

[Assistant] Because our candidate doesn’t have a personality.


[User] He doesn’t say much about the issues, either.

[Assistant] No; he’s got something wrong with his throat.


[User] Well, perhaps he could answer one question: What does the `S’ in his name stand for?

[Assistant] `Sod off’.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] As the Acting Returning Officer of Dunny-on-the-Wold…


[User] 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.

[Assistant] I now announce the number of votes cast as follows: Brigadier General Horace Bolsom…


[User] Cheap-Royalty-White-Rat-Catching-And-Safe-Sewage Residents Party…

[Assistant] No votes. Ivor `Jest-ye-not-madam’ Biggun…


[User] Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party…

[Assistant] No votes. Pitt, the Even Younger…


[User] Whig…

[Assistant] No votes.


[User] Oh, there’s a shock.

[Assistant] Mr. S. Baldrick…


[User] Adder Party…

[Assistant] Sixteen thousand, four hundred, and seventy-two.


[User] 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…?

[Assistant] Yes, that’s right.


[User] How long have you lived in this constituency?

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


[User] One voter, 16,472 votes — a slight anomaly…?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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

[Assistant] Your reprieve . It is a triumph for stupidity over common sense.


[User] Thank you very much.

[Assistant] As a reward, Baldrick, take a short holiday… Did you enjoy it? Right; on your way. At House of Commons


[User] Oh, thanks.

[Assistant] Well, well, well: if it isn’t the Lord Privy Toastrack! Pull up a muffin; sit yourself down.


[User] You don’t like me, do you, Mr. Blackadder?

[Assistant] Well, nobody likes a loser.


[User] Oh, then that’s why nobody likes you.

[Assistant] What?


[User] You lost the vote. Your monkey obligingly voted for us.

[Assistant] Oh God, no… If you want something done properly, kill Baldrick before you start.


[User] You’re beaten, Oik! And you and your disgusting master have twenty-four hours to get out.

[Assistant] Twenty-four hours is a long time in politics. Good day.


[User] There is just one thing before I go… 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–

[Assistant] Get out, you nausating adolescent! Piss off! How could I have been so stupid? Goodbye, Millionaire’s Row; Hello, Room 12 of the Twilight Rest Home for the Terminally Short of Cash!


[User] …and to think you once dreamed you’d end up in the House of Lords.

[Assistant] What?


[User] The House of Lords.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Oh, hurrah!

[Assistant] Right, take Baldrick off the spit.


[User] Hurrah…

[Assistant] I’ve got a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel. Da-daa!


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Excellently, sir. Order a thousand pairs of finest cotton socks; take out the drawings for that beach hut at Brighton…


[User] Hurrah!

[Assistant] There was, however, one slight — ahem — hiccup.


[User] No… `cough’, I think you mean.

[Assistant] No, sir… `Hiccup’. The motion about your improverishment has now moved on to the House of Lords.


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

[Assistant] Ah, would that were so, Your Highness. These are treacherous times.


[User] Are they?

[Assistant] Yes. It might be wise to appoint a new Lord, to make sure the old Lords vote the right way.


[User] Good thought… New Lord…any idea who?

[Assistant] Well, sir, one name does leap to mind.


[User] Does it?

[Assistant] Yes, sir.


[User] You couldn’t make it leap any higher, could you?

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


[User] Ah, of course! Blackadder, oh, how can I ever thank you enough?

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


[User] Oh, well, how many should we should bribe, do you think?

[Assistant] Oh, I think three hundred, to be sure…at a thousand pounds each.


[User] Three hundred thousand pounds?

[Assistant] Four hundred thousand, I think you’ll find, sir.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Excellent! I shall change immediately.

[Assistant] And so, sir, shall I. At Baldrick/Blackadder’s Quarters Voila, Mrs. Miggins. My robes of State. My thousand pounds well spent, I think.


[User] Oooohhh, very nice! Oooohhhhhh, it’s real cat, isn’t it?

[Assistant] This is not cat, Mrs. Miggins. This is finest, leather-trimmed ermine with gold medallion accessories.


[User] Oh go on, Mr. Blackadder — it’s cat. Oooh, look, they’ve left the little collars on!

[Assistant] `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.


[User] Oooh, you’re full of yourself today, Mr. B!

[Assistant] …which is more than can be said for Mr. Frisky. My Lord…


[User] My Lordsz.

[Assistant] I’m sorry, sir?


[User] My Lordsz. There is more than one Lord in the vicinity.

[Assistant] Oh, well, yes…


[User] Will you please welcome His Grace, The Lord Baldrick!

[Assistant] You made…Baldrick a Lord?


[User] It’s alright, Blackadder — you don’t have to curtsy or anything.

[Assistant] Sir, might I let loose a short, violent exclamation?


[User] Well, why certainly.

[Assistant] DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you, sir.


[User] I say, that’s a bit of a strange getup you’ve got there, isn’t it, Blackadder?

[Assistant] 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…


[User] Ah yes, I gave that to Lord Baldrick.

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


[User] I think that’s a splendid idea.

[Assistant] This way…My Lord… At Baldrick/Blackadder’s Quarters Give me the bloody money, Baldrick, or you’re dead!


[User] `Give me the bloody money, Baldrick, or you’re dead, My Lord’!

[Assistant] Just do it, Baldrick! Otherwise, I shall further ennoble you by knighting you rather clumsily with this meat cleaver.


[User] I haven’t got it.

[Assistant] What?


[User] I spent it.

[Assistant] You spent it? What could you possibly spend 400,000 pounds on? Oh, no… Oh, God, don’t tell me…


[User] …my Dream Turnip.

[Assistant] Baldrick, how did you manage to find a turnip that cost 400,000 pounds?


[User] Well, I had to haggle…

[Assistant] 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. …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!


[User] Oh, oh, oh, Blackadder! BLACKADDER!

[Assistant] Your Highness.


[User] Wha–wha–what time is it?

[Assistant] Three o’clock in the afternoon, Your Highness.


[User] Oh, thank God for that; I thought I’d overslept.

[Assistant] I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir…?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Oh, an absurd suggestion, sir.


[User] You’re right, it is absurd.

[Assistant] …unless, of course, it was a particularly stupid donkey.


[User] You see? If only I’d thought of saying that…

[Assistant] 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.”


[User] 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.”

[Assistant] And how do you suggest this miracle is to be achieved, Your Highness?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Would this be the long-awaited Dictionary, sir?


[User] Oh, who cares about the title as long as there’s plenty of juicy murders in it. I hear it’s a masterpiece.

[Assistant] No, sir, it is not. It’s the most pointless book since “How To Learn French” was translated into French.


[User] You haven’t got anything personal against Johnson, have you Blackadder?

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


[User] But you do think he’s a genius…?

[Assistant] 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.”


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

[Assistant] I’m delighted to have been instrumental of keeping your bosom free of arses, sir.


[User] Bravo — don’t want to waste my valuable time with wobblebottoms. Er, fetch some tea, will you, Blackadder?

[Assistant] Certainly, sir.


[User] Something wrong, Mr. B?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] I thought he was the cleverest man in England.

[Assistant] Baldrick, I’d bump into cleverer people at a lodge meeting of the Guild of Village Idiots.


[User] That’s not what you said when you sent him your navel.

[Assistant] Novel, Baldrick — not navel. I sent him my novel.


[User] Well, novel or navel, it sounds a bit like a bag of grapefruits to me.

[Assistant] 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.”


[User] Gertrude Perkins?

[Assistant] Yes, I gave myself a female pseudonym. Everybody’s doing it these days: Mrs. Ratcliffe, Jane Austen–


[User] What, Jane Austen’s a man?

[Assistant] Of course — a huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush.


[User] Oh, quite a small one, then?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Perhaps your book really isn’t any good.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] And this is mine . My magnificent octopus.

[Assistant] This is your novel, Baldrick?


[User] Yeah — I can’t stand long books.

[Assistant] “Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called `Baldrick’, and it lived happily ever after.”


[User] It’s semi-autobiographical.

[Assistant] And it’s completely utterly awful. Dr. Johnson will probably love it. 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. Oh, and prepare a fire for the Prince, will you, Baldrick?


[User] What shall I use?

[Assistant] Oh, any old rubbish will do. Paper’s quite good. Here, try this for starters . In Prince’s House


[User] Enter!

[Assistant] Dr. Johnson, Your Highness.


[User] 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!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Hmm.

[Assistant] Every single one, sir?


[User] Every single word, sir!

[Assistant] Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if I also offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafribularities.


[User] What?

[Assistant] `Contrafribularities’, sir? It is a common word down our way.


[User] Damn!

[Assistant] Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I’m anus-peptic, phrasmotic, even compunctious to have caused you such pericombobulation.


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

[Assistant] I’m sorry, sir. I merely wished to congratulate the Doctor on not having left out a single word. Shall I fetch the tea, Your Highness?


[User] Yes, yes — and get that damned fire up here, will you?

[Assistant] Certainly, sir. I shall return interfrrastically.


[User] Well! It is a reputation well deserved, sir! Farewell!

[Assistant] Leaving already, Doctor? Not staying for your pendigestatery interludicule?


[User] No, sir! Show me out!

[Assistant] Certainly, sir — anything I can do to facilitate your velocitous extramuralisation.


[User] You will regret this doubly, sir. Not only have you impecuniated my Dictionary, but you’ve also lost the chance to act as patron to the only book in the world that is even better.

[Assistant] Oh, and what is that, sir? “Dictionary II: The Return of the Killer Dictionary”?


[User] No, sir! It is “Edmund: A Butler’s Tale” by Gertrude Perkins — a huge rollercoaster of a novel crammed with sizzling gypsies. Had you supported it, sir, it would have made you and me and Gertrude millionaires.

[Assistant] Millionaires!!


[User] But it was not to be, sir. I fare you well; I shall not return.

[Assistant] Excuse me, sir. Er, Dr. Johnson… A word, I beg you.


[User] A word with you, sir, can mean seven million syllables. You might start now and not be finished by bedtime! Oh, blast my eyes! In my fury, I have left my Dictionary with your foolish master! Go fetch it, will you?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] I think I can change his mind.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Your Highness, may I offer my congratulations?


[User] Well, thanks, Blackadder. That pompous babboon won’t be back in a hurry.

[Assistant] Oh, on the contrary, sir. Dr. Johnson left in the highest of spirits.


[User] What?

[Assistant] He is utterly thrilled at your promise to patronise his Dictionary.


[User] I told him to sod off, didn’t I?

[Assistant] Yes, sir, but that was a joke…surely.


[User] Was it?

[Assistant] Certainly! and a brilliant one once more.


[User] Yes, yes! I…er…suppose it was, rather, wasn’t it…

[Assistant] So may I deliver your note of patronage to Dr. Johnson as promised?


[User] Well, of course. If that’s what I promised, then that’s what I must do. …and I remember promising it distinctly.

[Assistant] Excellent. Nice fire, Baldrick.


[User] Thank you, Mr. B.

[Assistant] Right, let’s get the book. Now; Baldrick, where’s the manuscript?


[User] You mean the big papery thing tied up with string?

[Assistant] Yes, Baldrick — the manuscript belonging to Dr. Johnson.


[User] You mean the baity fellow in the black coat who just left?

[Assistant] Yes, Baldrick — Dr. Johnson.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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,


[User] On the fire.

[Assistant] On the what?


[User] The hot orangy thing under the stony mantlepiece.

[Assistant] You burned the Dictionary?


[User] Yup.

[Assistant] You burned the life’s work of England’s foremost man of letters?


[User] Well, you did say “burn any old rubbish.”

[Assistant] Yes, fine.


[User] Isn’t it, er…Isn’t it going to be a bit difficult for me to patronise this book if we’ve burnt it?

[Assistant] Yes, it is, sir. If you would excuse me a moment…


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Baldrick, will you join me in the vestibule? 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.


[User] Me?

[Assistant] Yes, you!


[User] Why me?

[Assistant] Because you burnt it, Baldrick.


[User] But then I’ll go to Hell forever for stealing.

[Assistant] 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


[User] Ohh, Mr. Byron, don’t be such a big girl’s blouse!

[Assistant] Don’t forget the pencil, Baldrick.


[User] Oh, I certainly won’t, sir.

[Assistant] Ah, good day to you, Mrs. Miggins. 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.


[User] Don’t you worry about my poets, Mr. Blackadder. They’re not dead; they’re just being intellectual.

[Assistant] 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?


[User] We are here, sir, to pay homage to the great Dr. Johnson, as, sir, should you!

[Assistant] 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?


[User] The Prince was and is an utter fool, and his household filled with cretinous servants.

[Assistant] Good afternoon, sir.


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

[Assistant] Not quite. The Prince begs just a few more hours to really get to grips with it.


[User] Bah!!

[Assistant] However, I was wondering if a lowly servant such as I might be permitted to glance at a copy.


[User] COPY?! Poets and Johnson: COPY?! There is no copy, sir.

[Assistant] No copy?


[User] No, sir. Making a copy is like fitting wheels to a tomato, time consuming and completely unnecessary.

[Assistant] But what if the book got lost?


[User] I should not lose the book, sir, and if any other man should, I would tear off his head with my bare hands and feed it to the cat!

[Assistant] Well, that’s nice and clear.


[User] And I would not rest until the criminal was hanging by his hair, with an Oriental disembowelling cutlass thrust up his ignoble behind.

[Assistant] I hope you’re listening to all this, Baldrick. In Prince’s House Sir, I have been unable to replace the Dictionary. I am therefore leaving immediately for Nepal, where I intend to live as a goat.


[User] Why?

[Assistant] Because if I stay here, Dr. Johnson’s companions will have me brutally murdered, sir.


[User] Good God, Blackadder, that’s terrible! Do you know any other butlers?

[Assistant] 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.”


[User] Hurrah! Well, that’s that, then.

[Assistant] 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.”


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Which pages?


[User] Well, not the same ones, of course.

[Assistant] Yes, I think I’m on the point of spotting the flaw in this plan, but do go on. Which pages are they?


[User] Well, this is the brilliant bit: You write some new ones.

[Assistant] …some new ones. You mean rewrite the Dictionary. I sit down tonight and rewrite the Dictionary that took Dr. Johnson ten years.


[User] Yup.

[Assistant] 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…


[User] I am as stupid as I look, sir, but if I can help, I will.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Oh, come on, Blackadder, give us a try!

[Assistant] Very well, sir, as you wish. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?


[User] Oh, I love this! I love this: quizzies…Errmmm, hang on, it’s coming… ooohh, crikey, errmm, oh yes, I’ve got it!

[Assistant] What?


[User] Well, it doesn’t really mean anything, does it?

[Assistant] Good. So we’re well on the way, then. ” `a’; impersonal pronoun; doesn’t really mean anything.” Right! Next: `A’… `A-B’.


[User] Well, it’s a buzzing thing, isn’t it. “A buzzing thing.”

[Assistant] Baldrick, I mean something that starts with `A-B’.


[User] He’s right, you know, Blackadder. Honey does start a bee…and a flower, too.

[Assistant] Yes, look, this really isn’t getting anywhere. And besides, I’ve left out `aardvark’.


[User] Oh well, don’t say we didn’t give it a try.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] What, like Gerald, Lord Sandwich, had the other day?

[Assistant] Yes — a few rounds of Gerald’s.


[User] How goes it, Blackadder?

[Assistant] Not all that well, sir.


[User] Well, let’s have a look… “Medium-sized insectivore with protruding nasal implement.” Doesn’t sound much like a bee to me.

[Assistant] It’s an aardvark! Can’t you see that, Your Highness? It’s a bloody aardvark!!


[User] Oh dear — still on `aardvark’, are we?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Got a bit stuck, have you?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well, don’t panic, Blackadder, because I have some rather good news.

[Assistant] Oh? What?


[User] Well, we didn’t take `no’ for an answer, and have, in fact, been working all night. I’ve done `B’.

[Assistant] Really? And how have you got on?


[User] Well, I had a bit of trouble with `belching’, but I think I got it sorted out in the end. Oh no, there I go again!

[Assistant] You’ve been working on that joke for some time, haven’t you, sir?


[User] Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact, yes.

[Assistant] Since you started…


[User] Basically.

[Assistant] So, in fact, you haven’t done any work at all.


[User] Not as such, no.

[Assistant] Great. Baldrick, what have you done?


[User] I’ve done `C’ and `D’.

[Assistant] Right, let’s have it, then.


[User] Right. “Big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in.”

[Assistant] What’s that?


[User] `Sea’.

[Assistant] Yes — tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren’t high. Now; what about `D’?


[User] I’m quite pleased with `dog’.

[Assistant] Yes, and your definition of `dog’ is…?


[User] “Not a cat.”

[Assistant] Excellent. Excellent! Your Highness, may I have a word?


[User] Certainly.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] That’s right, Blackadder, and I thank you for it.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Can’t I, by God!

[Assistant] No.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] You’re not; you’re German. Get me some coffee, Baldrick. If I fall asleep before Monday, we’re doomed!


[User] Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up…

[Assistant] What time is it?


[User] Monday morning.

[Assistant] Monday morning?! Oh my God! I’ve overslept! Where’s the quill? Where’s the parchment?


[User] I don’t know. Maybe Dr. Johnson’s got some with him.

[Assistant] WHAT??!


[User] He’s outside.

[Assistant] AAAOOOOHHHH!


[User] Are you ill, sir?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] I don’t think so.

[Assistant] Oh God! We’ve been burgled!! What?


[User] I think it’s an awful dictionary, full of feeble definitions and ridiculous verbiage. I’ve come to ask you to chuck the damn thing in the fire.

[Assistant] Are you sure?


[User] I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, sir.

[Assistant] I love you, Dr. Johnson, and I want to have your babies. Oh, sorry, excuse me, Dr. Johnson, but my Auntie Marjorie has just arrived. Baldrick, who gave you permission to turn into an Alsatian? Oh God, it’s a dream, isn’t it? It’s a bloody dream! Dr. Johnson doesn’t want us to burn his Dictionary at all.


[User] Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up…

[Assistant] What time is it?


[User] Monday morning.

[Assistant] Monday morning?! Oh my God! I’ve overslept! Where’s the quill? Where’s the parchment?


[User] I don’t know. Maybe Dr. Johnson’s got some with him.

[Assistant] WHAT??!


[User] He’s outside.

[Assistant] AA– Now, hang on. Hang on. If we go on like this, you’re going to turn into an Alsatian again. Oh my God! Quick, Baldrick, we’ve got to escape.


[User] Bring it out, sir, or we shall break down the door!

[Assistant] Ah, good morning. Dr. Johnson, Lord Byron–


[User] Where is my Dictionary?

[Assistant] And what dictionary would this be?


[User] 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–

[Assistant] Am I to presume that my elaborate bluff has not worked?


[User] Dictionary!

[Assistant] Right, well, the truth is, Doctor — now, don’t get cross, don’t over- react — the truth is: we burnt it.


[User] My Dictionary! But you said you burned it!

[Assistant] Erm…


[User] Sir! I hope you’re not using the first English dictionary to look up rude words!

[Assistant] I wouldn’t be too hopeful; that’s what all the other ones will be used for.


[User] Sir, can I look up `turnip’?

[Assistant] `Turnip’ isn’t a rude word, Baldrick.


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

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


[User] Sir, who is she?

[Assistant] She, sir, is me, sir. I am Gertrude Perkins.


[User] Good Lord!!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] This is terribly exciting!!!

[Assistant] Baldrick, fetch my novel.


[User] Novel?

[Assistant] Yes — the big papery thing tied up with string.


[User] What, like the thing we burnt?

[Assistant] Exactly like the thing we burnt.


[User] So you’re asking for the big papery thing tied up with string, exactly like the thing we burnt.

[Assistant] Exactly.


[User] We burnt it.

[Assistant] So we did. Thank you, Baldrick — seven years of my life up in smoke. Your Highness, would you excuse me a moment?


[User] By all means.

[Assistant] OH GOD, NO!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you, sir.


[User] Burned, you say? That’s most inconvenient. A burned novel is like a burned dog: You–

[Assistant] Oh shut up!


[User] Oh, well, I didn’t think it was that bad!

[Assistant] I think you’ll find he left `sausage’ out of his Dictionary, Baldrick. Oh, and `aardvark’…


[User] Certainly, Your Majesty.

[Assistant] Ah, good morning, Mrs Miggins.


[User] Bonjour, monsieur.

[Assistant] What?


[User] Bonjour, monsieur — it’s French.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] But French is all the fashion! My coffee shop is full of frenchies, and it’s all because of that wonderful Scarlet Pimpernel.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] We don’t serve pies anymore! My French clientele consider pies uncouth.

[Assistant] 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?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] What exactly is Scarlet Pimpernel sauce?


[User] You take a large ripe frog, squeeze it —

[Assistant] Yes, yes, all right.


[User] Ah, bonjour, monsieur!

[Assistant] Sod off.


[User] Oh, Sir! Poor little Mildred the cat! What’s he ever done to you?

[Assistant] It is the way of the world, Baldrick — the abused always kick downwards. I am annoyed, and so I kick the cat… the cat


[User] Agh!

[Assistant] …bites you on the behind.


[User] Well, what do I do?

[Assistant] 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. Baldrick, what’s happened to your nose?


[User] Nice, isn’t it?

[Assistant] No it isn’t. It’s revolting.


[User] Oh. I’ll take it off, then.

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


[User] It’s a Scarlet Pimple, Sir.

[Assistant] Really…


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

[Assistant] What has this fellow done? — apart from pop over to France to grab a few French knobs from the ineffectual clutches 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? 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.


[User] “Un toast! Encore un toast,” I say! Le Pimpernel Scarlette! Topper & Smedley: Le Pimpernel Scarlette! Ah! Le Adder Noir! Come on au in! This is the fellow to ask, you chaps: my butler — terribly clever. Brighter than a brain pie.

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


[User] Damn that swine…

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Eh?

[Assistant] On the contrary, Sir. I’ll just go and pack.


[User] Oh.

[Assistant] 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?


[User] Oh, damn… I’m the best man. Damn that dead father, damn…

[Assistant] See you at the ball.


[User] Oh, what a shame they were so busy. It would have been lovely to have had them with us.

[Assistant] “Us”?


[User] Yes.

[Assistant] You’re coming, Sir?


[User] Well, certainly.

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


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

[Assistant] Sir, the type of women currently favoured in France are toothless crones who just cackle insanely.


[User] Oh, ignore that — they’re just playing hard-to-get.

[Assistant] …by removing all their teeth, going mad and aging forty years?


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

[Assistant] I fear not, Sir. If we are to stand any chance of survival in France, we shall have to dress as the smelliest lowlife imaginable.


[User] Oh yes? What sort of thing?

[Assistant] Well, Sir, let me show you our Paris Collection… Baldrick is wearing a sheep’s-bladder jacket, with matching dung-ball accessories. Hair by Crazy Meg of Bedlam . Notice how the overpowering aroma of rotting pilchards has been woven cunningly into the ensemble. Baldrick, when did you last change your trousers?


[User] I have never changed my trousers.

[Assistant] Thank you. 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.”


[User] It certainly can get a bit whiffy, there’s no doubt about that!

[Assistant] We are told that, when the box was opened, the whole world turned to darkness because of Pandora’s fatal curiousity. 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.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] I understand perfectly, Sir.


[User] Also, the chances of me scoring if I look and smell like him are zero.

[Assistant] Well, that’s true, Sir. We shall return presently to bid you farewell.


[User] Mr B, I’ve been having second thoughts about this trip to France.

[Assistant] Oh? Why?


[User] Well, Blackadder, this is it.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well, of course, old man. It’s the very least I could do.

[Assistant] We must leave at once. The shadows lengthen, and we have a long and arduous journey ahead of us. Farewell, dear master and — dare I say? — friend.


[User] Farewell, brave liberator and — dare I say it? — butler!

[Assistant] Right, stick the kettle on, Balders.


[User] What, aren’t we going to France?

[Assistant] Of course we’re not going to France — it’s incredibly dangerous there!


[User] Well, how are you going to win your bet?

[Assistant] As usual, Baldrick: by the use of the large thing between my ears.


[User] Oh, your nose…

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well, what if the prince finds us here?

[Assistant] He couldn’t find his own fly buttons, let alone the kitchen door.


[User] What a pair of trousers!!! I shall be the Belle of the Embassy Ball! Now, how do you put them on? Er… Blackadder!

[Assistant] Well, Baldrick, what a very pleasant week. We must do this more often.


[User] Yes, I shall certainly choose revolutionary France for my holiday again next year.

[Assistant] Still, time to go to work. Off to Mrs Miggins’ to pick up any old French toff–


[User] What do you think that is?

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


[User] Damn!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Not so hostile to the frenchies now, Mr B…

[Assistant] Certainly not, Mrs M. I’d sooner be hostile to my own servant.


[User] Well, vivre to that and an eclair for both of us!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Ah, well, I’ve got just the fellow for you — over there by the window: The Comte de Frou Frou. He’s pretty down on his luck, and he’s made that horse’s willy last all morning.

[Assistant] Oh, good. Baldrick, we have struck garlic! Now you can some lunch, Baldrick.


[User] Thank you.

[Assistant] Le Comte de Frou Frou, I believe…


[User] Eh?

[Assistant] Do you speak English?


[User] A little…

[Assistant] 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?


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

[Assistant] Oh, good.


[User] Just don’t ask me to take a physiology class or direct a light opera.

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


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Yes, but this is a chance to return to the good old days.


[User] 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–

[Assistant] 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?


[User] 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… Yes, well, obviously it hasn’t really got going yet…

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


[User] Bon soir!

[Assistant] Ah, good evening, my man. Do you speak English?


[User] Little.

[Assistant] Good, well, just take me to the ambassador, then, will you?


[User] Pardon?

[Assistant] I have rescued an aristocrat, from the clutches of the evil revolutionaries. Please take me to the ambassador.


[User] No, I won’t. I am an “evil revolutionarie,” and have murdered the ambassadeur, and turned him into pate!

[Assistant] Ah.


[User] Sneag? Hah!

[Assistant] 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.


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

[Assistant] They’re…given a little present and allowed to go free?


[User] No…

[Assistant] They’re smacked and told not to be naughty, but basically let off…


[User] I think I know.

[Assistant] What?


[User] They’re put in prison for the night, and brutally guillotined in the morning!

[Assistant] Well done, Baldrick…


[User] Hah!

[Assistant] Excuse me, Frou Frou… 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…


[User] Death to the aristoes!

[Assistant] Oh, shut up, Mouse-brain…


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

[Assistant] Hah! Some hope. The Scarlet Pimpernel is the most overrated human being since Judas Iscariot won the A.D. 31 Best Disciple Competition.


[User] Well, if he should fail us, here: I these have these suicide pills. One for me ; one for you

[Assistant] Say “thank you,” Baldrick.


[User] I’m glad to say, I don’t think you’ll be needing those pills, Mr B…

[Assistant] 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?


[User] They certainly are!

[Assistant] 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?


[User] We do…nothing.

[Assistant] Yep, that’s another world-beater.


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

[Assistant] …and then we spring into action?


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

[Assistant] Yyyyyyyeah…


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Yes… My opinions are rather difficult to express in words, so perhaps I can put it this way…


[User] It doesn’t really matter, ’cause the Scarlet Pimpernel will save us, anyway.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] I can’t sleep, Mr Blackadder…

[Assistant] I said “Shut up”!


[User] I’m so excited to think that the Scarlet Pimpernel will be here at any moment!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] I couldn’t sleep when I was little.

[Assistant] You still are little, Baldrick.


[User] 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.

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


[User] That very day…

[Assistant] 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. Wait a minute! I thought of a plan!


[User] Hurray!

[Assistant] Also, I thought of a way to get you to sleep!


[User] Morning, scum… Did we sleep well, eh?

[Assistant] Like a tot, thank you… But, by jiminy, you must be feeling thirsty after your long night’s brutality! Drink?


[User] Eu, non, merci… Not while I am on duty.

[Assistant] Oh. Perhaps later.


[User] Are these the English pigs?

[Assistant] Yes, that’s us.


[User] So! Scum! Prepare to be in pain!

[Assistant] Yes, certainly. But first, perhaps, a toast: to your beauty!


[User] Oh, thank you. OK.

[Assistant] Cheers.


[User] So, I expect you were expecting to be rescued, huh?!

[Assistant] Hah — some bloody hope. What!


[User] Hurray!

[Assistant] My god! Smedley! But I thought you were an absolute !


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

[Assistant] 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…


[User] No, no — they’re very odd things, you see. The symptoms are most peculiar. First of all, the victims become very very depressed. Oh, god! This whole revolution is so depressing, I mean, sometimes I wonder why I bother… I mean, I’m so lonely, and nobody loves me…

[Assistant] …and after the depression comes death.


[User] No — after the depression comes the loss of temper, you stuck-up bastard!!! What you are staring at???

[Assistant] …and after the temper comes death.


[User] No! After the temper comes the, er… comes the, er…

[Assistant] …forgetfulness?


[User] Er, yes, that’s it… er… comes the, er…

[Assistant] …forgetfulness.


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

[Assistant] …and after the forgetfulness, you die.


[User] Oh, no! I forgot one! After the forgetfulness comes a moment of exquisite happiness! 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!!!

[Assistant] …and then death?


[User] Hurray! It’s the Scarlet Pimpernel!

[Assistant] Yes, Baldrick…


[User] …and you killed him!

[Assistant] 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!


[User] But what about Mr Frou?

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


[User] I escaped! What happened here?

[Assistant] Oh, er, nothing, nothing…


[User] Ah, chaps! Good to see you. Just trying on the new trousers…

[Assistant] I return, Sir, as promised, plus one toff French aristocrat fresh from the Bastille.


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

[Assistant] 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–


[User] I could try.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Bravo!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] That is an incredible story — worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel himself!

[Assistant] Well, I wouldn’t know.


[User] I, on the other hand, would. Because, you see, Sir

[Assistant] Uh oh…


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Shut up, Baldrick.


[User] Well, bravo! because we hate liars, bounders and cads, don’t we, Blackadder?

[Assistant] Generally speaking…yes, Sir. But perhaps before Lord Topper starts to talk, he might like a glass of wine. He’s looking a little shaken.


[User] Shaken, but not stirred.

[Assistant] Erm, a story of dishonour and deceit…


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

[Assistant] Well, judging from the ridiculous ostentatiousness of his death, I would say that he was.


[User] Well, then, that’s a damn shame, because I wanted to give him this enormous postal order.

[Assistant] Please, Sir, let me finish. I would say that he was…n’t.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Absolutely not, Sir.


[User] You look smart, Mr. Blackadder. Going somewhere nice?

[Assistant] No, I’m off to the theatre.


[User] Don’t you like it then?

[Assistant] 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!


[User] What, doesn’t he like it, either?

[Assistant] 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!”.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Come on, Blackadder, or we’ll miss the first act!

[Assistant] Coming, sir, as fast as I can… Stick the kettle on, Baldrick. The Theatre ———–


[User] Certainly not, you murdering rotter! Guards, arrest that man!

[Assistant] Your Highness, it’s only a play.


[User] 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! Call the militia!

[Assistant] But sir, he’s not dead. See, he stands, awaiting your applause.


[User] I say, how exciting! This play’s getting better and better! Bravo! Bravo!

[Assistant] It’s not a play anymore, sir. Put the bomb down and make your way quietly to the exit.


[User] Blackadder, you old thing, your problem is you can’t tell when something’s real and when it’s not! The Prince’s Lounge ——————- I must say, Blackadder, that was a close shave! Why on earth would an anarchist possibly want to kill you?

[Assistant] I think it might’ve been you he was after, sir.


[User] Oh hogwash! What on earth makes you say that?

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


[User] It was a bit rude, wasn’t it?

[Assistant] 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.”


[User] Well, yes, quite, something must be done! Any ideas?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] PPHHHGGTTT! Well, tell me about these “oppressed masses”, what are they so worked up about?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Oh my God, and here he is!

[Assistant] Don’t be silly, sir. That’s Baldrick, my dogsbody.


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

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Cripes, Blackadder, I’m dicing with death here. The sooner I can show how unusually sensitive I am, the better. Oh, I just had another brilliant thought.

[Assistant] Another one, Your Highness?


[User] 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?

[Assistant] No, Your Highness, feeble.


[User] What?

[Assistant] I would advise against it. It’s a feeble idea.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Mrs. Miggins, I’m looking for a couple of actors.


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

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


[User] 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.

[Assistant] They do say, Mrs. M, that verbal insults hurt more than physical pain. They are, of course, wrong, as you’ll soon discover when I stick this toasting fork in your head.


[User] OOoooohh, coming up, my lovely.

[Assistant] Ahh, if I can just squeeze through this admiring rabble… Gentlemen, I’ve come with a proposition.


[User] How dare you, sir. You think, just because we’re actors, we sleep with everyone!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Oh no, mustn’t upset the punters. Bums on seats, laddie, bums on seats.

[Assistant] And what play is this?


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

[Assistant] A philosophical work then.


[User] Indeed yes, sir. The violence of the murder and the vastness of the bosom are entirely justified artistically.

[Assistant] Right, I’ll tell the Prince that you can’t make it.


[User] Prince?

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


[User] Definitely, Mr. Mossop.

[Assistant] No, no, you’ve got your beloved audience to think about.


[User] Yes, worthless bastards to a man.

[Assistant] It’s nice to see artistic integrity thriving so strongly in the theatre. Well, this afternoon at four then, at the Palace. The Prince’s Lounge ——————-


[User] Well, what do you think?

[Assistant] Are you ill or something?


[User] No, I’m simply trying to look more like an actor.

[Assistant] Well, I’m sure you don’t need the false moustache.


[User] No?

[Assistant] No.


[User] Oowwwwh! Egads, it’s that oppressed mass again!

[Assistant] No sir, that is Baldrick spring cleaning.


[User] Oh yes, so it is.

[Assistant] Ummpf, finish the job later, Baldrick.


[User] Very well sir. The cleaning or the being strangled?

[Assistant] Either suits me.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] As I’ve told you about eight times, the man playing Julius Caesar was an actor called Kemp.


[User] Really?

[Assistant] Yes!


[User] Thundering gherkins! Well, Brutus must have been pretty miffed when he found out.

[Assistant] What?


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Oh, God, it’s pathetic! The Kitchens ————


[User] Is that the door?

[Assistant] Oh, don’t worry, it’s just the actors.


[User] My uncle Baldrick was in a play once.

[Assistant] Really?


[User] Yeah, it was called Macbeth.

[Assistant] And what did he play?


[User] Second codpiece… Macbeth wore him in the fight scenes.

[Assistant] So he was a stunt codpiece. Did he have a large part?


[User] Depends who’s playing Macbeth.

[Assistant] Oh, incidentally, Baldrick – actors are very superstitious. On no account mention the word Macbeth this evening, alright?


[User] Why not?

[Assistant] It brings them bad luck and it makes them very unhappy.


[User] Oh, so you won’t be mentioning it either?

[Assistant] No… well, not very often. The Prince’s Lounge ——————- You should have knocked.


[User] Oh-ho… never fear, I shan’t do that.

[Assistant] By the “Scottish Play”, I assume you mean Macbeth.


[User] Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Aaahh!

[Assistant] What was that?


[User] 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”.

[Assistant] What, Macbeth?


[User] Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Ohhh!

[Assistant] Good lord, you mean you have to do that every time I say Macbeth?


[User] Will you please stop saying that! Always call it the “Scottish Play”.

[Assistant] So you want me to say the “Scottish Play”?


[User] YES!!!

[Assistant] Rather than Macbeth?


[User] 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..

[Assistant] Macbeth, sir?


[User] No, no, it was called Julius Caesar.

[Assistant] Ah yes, of course. Julius Caesar… not Macbeth.


[User] Aahhhhh! Hot potato, off his drawers, pluck to make amends. Owwwwww!

[Assistant] Are you sure you want these people to stay?


[User] So you’ve had a wash, that’s no excuse!

[Assistant] No sir, that is Baldrick spring cleaning.


[User] But he’s, look, he’s got a bomb!

[Assistant] That’s not a bomb, sir, that’s a sponge.


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

[Assistant] Either that or “Here are my genitals, please kick them.”


[User] Is that right? Well, yes, hang it all, get out Blackadder, and stop corking our juices.

[Assistant] Certainly, Your Highness. I’ll leave you to dribble in private. The Kitchens ————


[User] Is something wrong, Mr. B.?

[Assistant] I just about had it up to here with at that Prince. One more insult, and I’ll be handing in my notice.


[User] Oh, does that mean I’ll be butler?

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


[User] Oh, right.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] But that milk-jug isn’t broken.

[Assistant] You really do walk into these things, don’t you. The Prince’s Lounge ——————-


[User] From your leading character, in a play connected with Scotland.

[Assistant] That’s Macbeth, isn’t it?


[User] No, no, no, alas, I fear you mew it like a frightened tree. May I see the speech? Who wrote this dribble?

[Assistant] Is there a problem with the speech?


[User] 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!

[Assistant] Whoops! The Kitchens ————


[User] They want their supper, sir?

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


[User] Why?

[Assistant] Because I’m leaving, Baldrick. I’m about to enter the job market. 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 ————————


[User] Spring has come, with all its gentle showers. Methinks it’s time to hack the Prince to death. The Kitchens ————

[Assistant] Baldrick, I would like to say how much I will miss your honest and friendly companionship.


[User] Aaahh, thank you Mr. B.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Goodbye, you lazy big-nosed, rubber-faced bastard.

[Assistant] 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.


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

[Assistant] Hope springs eternal, Baldrick.


[User] 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! SHhh! Oh…

[Assistant] Good evening, Your Highness.


[User] Oh, Blackadder.

[Assistant] Four minutes, twenty-two seconds, Baldrick. You owe me a groat.


[User] Thank God you’re here! We desperately need you!

[Assistant] Who, me, sir? Mr. Thicky-Black-Thicky-Adder-Thicky?


[User] Oh tish!

[Assistant] Mr. Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can’t-Write-For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed?


[User] Yes, I’m…

[Assistant] Mr. Brilliantly-Undervalued-Butler who hasn’t had a raise in a fortnight?


[User] Take an extra thousand? Guineas? Per month?

[Assistant] All right. What’s your problem?


[User] Well look, the actors have turned out to be vicious anarchists! They intend to kill us all!

[Assistant] What, are they going to bore us to death?


[User] I did!

[Assistant] Are you sure they meant it, sir?


[User] That far.

[Assistant] Alright, sir, I’ll see what I can do. The Prince’s Dining Room ————————


[User] To torture him, I lust. Let’s singe his hair, and up his nostrils hot bananas thrust.

[Assistant] Rehearsal’s going well, gentlemen?


[User] Indeed yes, sir. Your participation is as irritating as a potted cactus in a monkey’s pajamas.

[Assistant] Well, in that case, I won’t interrupt you any longer. Sorry to disturb you. The Prince’s Dressing-room ————————–


[User] Blackadder, thank God you’re safe! Well, what happened?

[Assistant] Sir, there was no need to panic. It was all perfectly straightforward.


[User] Well?

[Assistant] They’re traitors, sir. They must be arrested, brutally tortured and executed forthwith.


[User] But Your Highness, there’s been a terrible mistake.

[Assistant] That’s what they were bound to say, sir.


[User] It was a play, sir, a play! Look, all the words you heard written down on that page.

[Assistant] 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. Take them away!


[User] Mercy, we beg for mercy… please sir.

[Assistant] I have got only one thing to say to you… Macbeth!


[User] Well done, Bladder! How can I ever thank you?

[Assistant] Well, you can start by not calling me “Bladder”, sir. Macbeth!


[User] Of course, Bladder. No sooner said than done. No hard feelings?

[Assistant] No sir. It’s good to be back in the saddle. Did I say saddle? I mean harness.


[User] Bravo! So we’re the best of friends as ever we were.

[Assistant] Absolutely sir.


[User] Hurrah!

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] I was hoping you might play the title role, sir.


[User] What a roaringly good idea! What’s the play called?

[Assistant] Thick Jack Clot Sits in the Stocks and Gets Pelted with Rancid Tomatoes.


[User] Mrs. Miggins The Palace Kitchens

[Assistant] Oh God! Bills, bills, bills. One is born, one runs up bills, one dies!


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

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


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] My favourite’s the Shadow. What a man! They say he’s half-way to being the new Robin Hood.

[Assistant] Why only half-way?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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. Oop! The bank’s open! The Prince’s Lounge ——————- Good morning sir. May I say how immensely rich you’re looking? Now, was there anything you wanted? Anything at all? Absolutely anything?


[User] Well yes, old fellow, I was wondering if you could possibly lend me a bit of cash.

[Assistant] But of course sir. I- cash?


[User] Yes, I’m rotten stinking stoning stinking broke!

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


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Vaguely sir, yes.


[User] All the chaps say I’m terrific at it.

[Assistant] I seem to remember I was very bad at it. I always seemed to end up with more money than I started with.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well what am I going to do?

[Assistant] Yes, it’s a difficult one.


[User] Hmm.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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…

[Assistant] Broke?


[User] Well, yes, I suppose so.

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


[User] And the puking?

[Assistant] Mmm, I believe still very much down to the conscience of the individual church-goer.


[User] 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…

[Assistant] And bonkers!


[User] That goes without saying! The Kitchens ————

[Assistant] Oh God!


[User] Something wrong, Mr B.?

[Assistant] I can’t find a single person suitable to marry the prince.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well they sound ideal.

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


[User] And what about them?

[Assistant] Well, there’s Grand Duchess Sophia of Turin. We’ll never get her to marry him.


[User] Why not?

[Assistant] Because she’s met him.


[User] Which leaves?

[Assistant] Caroline of Brunswick as the only available princess in Europe.


[User] And what’s wrong with her?

[Assistant] “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?”


[User] All right! Which one do you want me to do first?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] So you’re stuck then.

[Assistant] Yes, I’m afraid I am. Unless, oh unless! Pass me the paper Baldrick quick. Baldrick, why has half the front page been cut out?


[User] I don’t know.

[Assistant] You do know, don’t you?


[User] Yes.

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


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

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


[User] I do.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Oh dear, that rules me out then.

[Assistant] 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 ——————–


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Radished, sir?


[User] Yes, they pull your breeches down and push a large radish right up your-

[Assistant] Yes, yes, yes, all right. There’s no need to hammer it home.


[User] Well as a matter of fact they do often have to-

[Assistant] No, no! No! Your em, your money worries are, are, are over sir.


[User] Well hoorah for that!

[Assistant] I have found you a bride. Her name is Amy, daughter of the noted industrialist, Mr Hardwood.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] How many mills?

[Assistant] Seven sir.


[User] Quite a lot of mills then.

[Assistant] Yes. He has patented a machine called “The Ravelling Nancy”.


[User] Mmm, what does it do?

[Assistant] It ravels cotton sir.


[User] What for?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Well if she’s gonna be my bird, she’d better be! Right, so what’s the plan?

[Assistant] Well I thought I could take her a short note expressing your honourable intentions.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] It’s very moving sir. Would you mind if I change just one tiny aspect of it?


[User] Which one?

[Assistant] The words.


[User] 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!

[Assistant] Certainly sir. The Home of Amy Hardwood ———————— 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.


[User] He says my nosy is tiny ?

[Assistant] And wee, madam.


[User] 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!

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


[User] 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?

[Assistant] 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.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] You want to meet him?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Certainly madam.


[User] Father, this is Mr. Blackadder, he’s come a-wooing from the Prince.

[Assistant] You have a beautiful and charming daughter, sir.


[User] Indeed I do. I love her more than any pig, and that’s saying summat!

[Assistant] It certainly is.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] An attitude that does you credit sir.


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

[Assistant] What self-respecting father could do more ?


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

[Assistant] I can see where your daughter gets her ready wit, sir.


[User] I thank you.

[Assistant] Although where she gets her good looks and charm is perhaps more of a mystery.


[User] No one ever made money out of good looks and charm.

[Assistant] You obviously haven’t met Lady Hamilton, sir. The Kitchens ———— 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.


[User] Well, he is the Prince of Wales.

[Assistant] Have you ever been to Wales, Baldrick?


[User] No, but I’ve often thought I’d like to.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] So, eh, being Prince of it isn’t considered a plus?

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


[User] But isn’t that a bit unfair on her?

[Assistant] 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?


[User] 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?

[Assistant] No sir, as we rehearsed, poetry first, sausage later.


[User] Right. So what do you think? “Harold the Horny Hunter” should do the trick.

[Assistant] Just remind me of it, sir?


[User] “Harold the Horny hunter, had an enormous horn…”

[Assistant] Shh yes yes. It is absolutely excellent sir, however, might I suggest an alternative?


[User] “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.

[Assistant] Just stand right here sir. Right. Call for her romantically.


[User] Is that you?

[Assistant] Y-y-yes, yes ’tis I, your gorgeous little love bundle.


[User] What was that?

[Assistant] Am, em. Nothing, there was just a little fly in my throaty. Yuch! Yuchh!


[User] Oh, what was that? Is there someone down there with you?

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


[User] There is someone down there with you!

[Assistant] Oh my God, yes, yes, so there is, a filthy intruder spying on our love.


[User] Oh hit him George, hit him!

[Assistant] Very well. Would you mind screaming, Your Highness. Take that. And that! And that!


[User] 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!

[Assistant] Nighty-wighty Amy-wamy. 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.


[User] Was I?

[Assistant] Yes sir.


[User] But I’m in agony!

[Assistant] Well, that’s love for you. The Home of Amy Hardwood ———————— Sir, I come as emissary of the Prince of Wales with the most splendid news. He wants your daughter Amy for his wife.


[User] Well his wife can’t have her! Outrageous, sir, to come here with such a suggestion! Why, sir, or I shall take off my belt and by thunder me trousers will fall down!

[Assistant] No sir. Sir, you misunderstand. He wants to marry your lovely daughter.


[User] 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.

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


[User] Well obviously, eh, now we’re marrying quality, we’ll never be poor or hungry again.

[Assistant] Meaning that you’re poor and hungry at the moment?


[User] Oh yes! We’ve been living off lard butties for five years now. I’m so poor I use my underpants for drying dishes.

[Assistant] So you’re skint?


[User] Aye.

[Assistant] Well in that case, the wedding’s off. Good day.


[User] Oh but what about Georgy’s lovey-wovey poems that won my hearty-wearty?

[Assistant] All writteny witteny by mewee I’m afraidy-waidy. Goodbye. The Prince’s Lounge ——————- Sir, you know I told you to go out and spend a lot of money on wedding presents, well appar-


[User] Yes?

[Assistant] Nothing. The Kitchens ———— 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.


[User] Oh sir, you’re not going to become a highwayman, are you?

[Assistant] No, I’m auditioning for the part of Arnold the Bat in Sheridon’s new comedy.


[User] Oh, that’s all right then.

[Assistant] Baldrick, have you no idea what irony is?


[User] Yeah, it’s like goldy and bronzy, only it’s made of iron.

[Assistant] Never mind, never mind, just saddle the Prince’s horse.


[User] That’ll be difficult, he wrapped it round that gas lamp in the Strand last night.

[Assistant] Well saddle my horse then.


[User] What d’you think you’ve been eating for the last two months?

[Assistant] Well go out into the street and hire me a horse.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Right, well get this on then. It looks as though you could do with the exercise. Robbing the Cheapside Coach —————————


[User] Oh. Well, never mind.

[Assistant] Stand and deliver!


[User] Oh no! Oh no no no no no, disaster! It’s the Shadow. We’re doomed, doomed!

[Assistant] Ah, good evening Duke, and the lovely Miss Cheapside. Your cash bags please. There we are.


[User] I think he looks pretty well-

[Assistant] Madam, please, no jests about me looking pretty well hung already, we have no time.


[User] Pity.

[Assistant] Now sir, turn out your pockets.


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

[Assistant] 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? Aha!


[User] Highwayman, I also have a jewel. I fear however that I have placed it here, beneath my petticoats, for protection.

[Assistant] 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.


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

[Assistant] I’m not talking to you, Grandad.


[User] 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!

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


[User] I could try!

[Assistant] No Quicksilver, you couldn’t.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Oh alright, very well then. All fair now?


[User] Not really, no.

[Assistant] Teh, no pleasing some horses. Hi-ho Quicksilver.


[User] Oh shut your face, you pregnant junky fag-hag! A Grassy Knoll in the Forest —————————-

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Which I suppose is highwayman’s talk for you get the cash, I get the snotty hanky.

[Assistant] No, no. No, we did this robbery together, so you get half the cash.


[User] Oh, thank you Mr B.

[Assistant] This robbery, on the other hand, I’m doing alone. Hand it over, your money or your life! You see? All fair and above board.


[User] Hands up! I am the Shadow and I never miss.

[Assistant] Oh no.


[User] You, the one that looks like a pig.

[Assistant] He’s talking to you Baldrick.


[User] Skedaddle. So who have we here? Well, a well set up fellow indeed. Sir, a kiss.

[Assistant] Sorry, I’m not sure I heard that correctly.


[User] Oh dear, maybe your ears need unblocking.

[Assistant] 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? Good lord! It’s you!


[User] Of course.

[Assistant] But your voice, it’s-


[User] Clever, isn’t it?

[Assistant] Does your father know you’re out?


[User] He had to go.

[Assistant] You mean he’s dead?


[User] Yes, dead as that squirrel!

[Assistant] Which squirrel? Oh, that squirrel. Of course, you killed him for ruining your chances of marrying Prince George.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Well, you’re only human.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Well I don’t know I’ll have to think about it. I’ve thought about it, it’s a brilliant plan. I’ll see you here tomorrow. The Kitchens ———— Right, I’m off.


[User] Oh sir, but what about the danger? Look, the reward is going up day by day.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Won’t they rather prickly?

[Assistant] Concubines Baldrick, not porcupines.


[User] Oh. I still can’t believe you’re leaving me behind.

[Assistant] 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.


[User] Will I?

[Assistant] Well of course you will, all the other slaves will be black.


[User] 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?

[Assistant] Yes, I’m off.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Mrs M., if we were the last three humans on Earth, I’d be trying to start a family with Baldrick! On a Grassy Knoll —————– Well, here I am, all packed and ready to go.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Mmmm.


[User] Ha, ha. Hand over the loot, goat brains!

[Assistant] 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?


[User] 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.

[Assistant] This is turning into a really rotten evening.


[User] 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.

[Assistant] Except squirrels?