The Palace Kitchens:
B: Ooh! Mr. Blackadder.
E: Leave me alone Baldrick. If I’d wanted to talk to a vegetable I’d have bought one at the market.
B: Well don’t you want this message?
E: No thank you… God, I’m wasted here. It’s no life for a man of noble blood being servant to a master with the intellect of a jugged walrus and all the social graces of a potty.
B: I’m wasted too. I’ve been thinking of bettering myself.
E: Oh, really? How?
B: I applied for the job of village idiot of Kensington.
E: Oh. Get anywhere?
B: I got down to the last two, but I failed the final interview.
E: Oh, what went wrong?
B: I turned up. The other bloke was such an idiot he forgot to.
E: Yes, well I’m afraid my ambitions stretch slightly further than professional idiocy in West London. I want to be remembered when I’m dead. I want books written about me. I want songs sung about me. And then hundreds of years from now I want episodes from my life to be played out weekly at half past nine by some great heroic actor of the age.
B: Yeah, and I could be played by some tiny tit in a beard.
E: Quite. Now, what’s this message?
B: I thought you didn’t want it?
E: Well I may do. It depends what it is.
B: So you do want it?
E: Well I don’t know, do I? It depends what it is.
B: Well, I can’t tell you unless you want to know, and you said you didn’t want to know, and now I’m so confused I don’t know where I live or what my name is.
E: Your name is of no importance and you live in the pipe in the upstairs water-closet. (looks at note) Oh God! Was the man who gave you this, by any chance, a red-headed lunatic with a kilt and a claymore?
B: Yeah, and the funny thing was, he looked exactly like you.
E: My mad cousin McAdder. The most dangerous man ever to wear a skirt in Europe.
B: Yeah, he come in here playing the bag-pipes, then he made a haggis, sang Auld Lang Sayne and punched me in the face.
B: Because I called him a knock-kneed Scottish pillock.
E: An unwise action, Baldrick, since Mad McAdder is a homicidal maniac.
B: My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.
E: Yes. If this is the same mother who confidently claimed that you were a tall handsome stallion of a man, I should treat her opinions with extreme caution.
B: I love my mum.
E: And I love chops and sauce but I don’t seek their advice. I hate it when McAdder turns up. He’s such a frog-eyed, beetle-browed basket-case.
B: (in Blackadder’s ear) He’s the spitting image of you.
E: No he’s not. We’re about as similar as two completely… dissimilar things in a pod. What’s the old tartan throw-back banging on about this time? (reads) "Have come South for the rebellion." Oh God! Surprise, surprise… "Staying with Miggins. The time has come. Best sword and Scotland. Insurrection… Blood… Large bowl of porridge… Rightful claim to throne…" He’s mad. He’s mad. He’s madder than Mad Jack McMad the winner of last year’s Mr Madman competition.
(The Prince’s bell rings.)
E: Ah! The walrus awakes.
The Prince’s Bedroom
PR: Ah Blackadder. Notice anything unusual?
E: Yes sir, it’s 11:30 in the morning and you’re moving about. Is the bed on fire?
PR: Well, I wouldn’t know, I’ve been out *all night*. Guess what I’ve been doing? Wraaarrhhhh…
E: Beagling, sir?
PR: Better even than that. Sink me Blackadder if I, if I haven’t just had the most wonderful evening of my life.
E: Tell me all sir.
PR: Well as you know when I set out I looked divine. At the party as I passed all eyes turned.
E: And I daresay quite a few stomachs.
PR: Well that’s right. And then these two ravishing beauties came up to me and whispered in my ear.. that they loved me. (licks his lips)
E: And what happened after you woke up?
PR: Oh, (falls onto bed) this was no dream Blackadder. Five minutes later I was in a coach flying through the London night bound for the ladies’ home.
E: And which home is this? A home for the elderly or a home for the mentally disadvantaged?
PR: Oh no no no no no. This was Apseley House. Do you know it?
E: Yes sir. It is the seat of the Duke of Wellington. Those ladies I fancy would be his nieces.
PR: Ooh, so you fancy them too? Well, I don’t blame you. Bravo. I spent a night of ecstasy with a pair of Wellingtons and I loved it.
E: Sir, it may interest you to know that the Iron Duke has always let it be known that he will kill in cold blood anyone who takes sexual advantage of any of his relatives.
PR: Yes, but Big-nose Wellington is in Spain fighting the French, he’ll never know.
E: On the contrary sir. Wellington triumphed six months ago.
PR: I’m dead.
E: It would seem so sir.
PR: I haven’t got a prayer, have I Blackadder?
E: Against Throat-slasher Wellington? The finest blade His Majesty commands? Not really no.
PR: Then I shall flee. How’s your French Blackadder?
E: Parfait monsieur. But I fear France will be not far enough.
PR: Well how’s your Mongolian?
E: Mmm, chang hatang motzo motzo. But I fear Wellington is a close personal friend of the chief Mongol. They were at Eton together.
PR: I’m doomed. Doomed as the dodo.
(There is a knock on the door.)
PR: Oh my God, he’s here, Wellington’s here already!
(Baldrick enters with a letter.)
PR: Oh, Your Grace, forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was a mad, mad, sexually over-active fool.
E: Sir, it’s Baldrick. You’re perfectly safe.
PR: Well, hurrah!
E: (reads letter) Ah, until 6 o’clock tonight.
E: "From the Supreme Commander, Allied Forces Europe. Sir, Prince or pauper, when a man soils a Wellington he puts his foot in it. P.S:
This is not a joke. I do not find my name remotely funny, and people who do end up dead. Close bracket. I challenge you to a duel tonight at 18 hundred hours in which you will die. Yours with sincere apologies for your impending violent slaughter, Arthur Wellesey, Duke of Wellington."
B: Sounds a nice polite sort of bloke.
PR: (cries) Ahh ah ahhh haaa haaawww.
E: Oh, don’t worry sir, please. Just consider that life is a valley of woe filled with pain, misery, hunger and despair.
PR: Well not for me it bloody isn’t! As far as I’m concerned life is a big palace full of food, drink, and comfy sofas.
B: May I speak, sir?
E: Certainly not Baldrick! The Prince is about to die. The last thing he wants to do in his final moments is exchange pleasantries with a certified plum-duff.
PR: Easy Blackadder, let’s hear him out.
E: Very well Baldrick. We shall hear you out, then throw you out.
B: Well, Your Majesty, I have a cunning plan which could get you out of this problem.
E: Don’t listen to him sir. It’s a cruel proletarian trick to raise your hopes. I shall have him shot the moment he’s finished clearing away your breakfast.
PR: No wait Blackadder. Perhaps this disgusting degraded creature is some sort of blessing in disguise.
E: Well if he is, it’s a very good disguise.
PR: After all, did not our Lord send a lowly earthworm to comfort Moses in his torment?
E: (firmly) No.
PR: Well, it’s the sort of thing he might have done. Well, come on Mr. Spotty, speak.
B: Well, Your Majesty, I just thought – this Welliton bloke’s been in Europe for years. You don’t know what he looks like. He don’t know what you looks like. So why don’t you get someone else to fight the duel instead of you?
PR: But I’m the Prince Regent! My portrait hangs on every wall!
E: Answer that, Baldrick.
B: Well my cousin Bert Baldrick, Mr Gainsborough’s butler’s dogsbody, says that he’s heard that all portraits look the same these days, ’cause they’re painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true depiction of the idiosycratic facial qualities of the person in question.
E: (impressed) Your cousin Bert obviously has a larger vocabulary than
you do, Baldrick.
PR: No, now, he’s right damn him. Anybody could fight the duel and
Wellers would never know.
E: All the same sir, Baldrick’s plan does seem to hinge on finding someone willing to commit suicide on your behalf.
PR: Oh yes yes yes, but he would be fabulously rewarded. Money, titles, castles..
E: A coffin, erm…
B: That’s right, I thought maybe Mr. Blackadder himself would fancy the job.
PR: What a splendid idea!
E: Excuse me Your Highness. Trouble with the staff.
(Baldrick and Blackadder leave the room. Blackadder grabs Baldrick by the
E: Baldrick, does it have to be this way? Our valued friendship ending with me cutting you into long strips and telling the Prince that you walked over a very sharp cattlegrid in an extremely heavy hat?
B: Mr. Blackadder, you was only just saying in the kitchen how you wanted to rise again – now here the Prince is offering you the lot.
E: But, tiny tiny brain, the Iron Duke will kill me. To even think about taking him on you’d have to be some kind of homicidal maniac who was fantastically good at fighting, like McAdder, like McAdder… (excited) Like McAdder could fight the duel for me!
(Blackadder re-enters the Prince’s bedroom.)
E: (calmly) My apologies sir. I was just having a word with my insurance people. Obviously I would be delighted to die on your behalf.
PR: God’s toenails Blackadder, I’m most damnably grateful. You won’t regret this you know.
E: Well that’s excellent. There’s just one point though sir, re: the suicide policy. There’s an unusual clause which states that the policy holder must wear a big red wig and affect a Scottish accent in the combat zone.
PR: Small print eh? Huh.
Mrs Miggins’ Coffee Shop
(Disarray. Flecks of porridge everywhere. Mrs. Miggins is sitting on a table leaning back on the counter.)
E: Ah, Mrs. Miggins. Am I to gather from your look of pie-eyed exhaustion and the globules of porridge hanging off the walls that my cousin McAdder has presented his credentials?
MM: Oh yes indeed sir. You’ve just missed him.
E: I trust he has been practising with his claymore.
MM: Oooooh, I should say so! I’m as weary as a dog with no legs that’s just climbed Ben Nevis.
E: A claymore is a sword, Mrs. Miggins.
MM: See this intricate wood carving of the infant Samuel at prayer? He whittled that with the tip of his mighty weapon with his eyes closed.
E: Yes, exquisite.
MM: He bid me bite on a plank, there was a whirlwind of steel, and within a minute three men lay dead and I had a lovely new set of gnashers. (grins woodenly)
E: Really. Just tell him to meet me here at 5 o’clock, will you? To discuss an extremely cunning plan. If all goes well by tomorrow the clan of McAdder will be marching back the high road back to glory.
MM: Ooh lovely. I’ll do you a nice packed lunch.
The Prince’s Quarters
(Blackadder enters, looks for the Prince in the lounge and walks through into the bedroom.)
E: Good news, Your Majesty. This evening I will carve the Duke into an attractive piece of furniture with some excellent dental work. Your Highness? Your Highness!
(The bedroom door swings closed revealing the Prince hiding behind it, his fingers in his ears.)
PR: Ooohh! Oh, thank God it’s you Blackadder. I’ve had just word from Wellington, he’s on his way here now.
E: Ah, that’s awkward. The Duke must believe from the very start that I am you.
PR: Hmm, well, hmm, any ideas?
E: There’s no alternative, we must swap clothes. (starts to take off his jacket)
PR: Oh fantastic, yes, dressing up. I love it. It’s just like that story, ah, "The Prince And The Porpoise".
E: "..and the Pauper" sir.
PR: Oh yes! Yes yes yes, "The Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper".
(They exchange clothes and wigs.)
PR: Excellent, excellent. Why, my own father wouldn’t recognise me.
E: Your own father never can. He’s mad.
PR: Oh yes, yes.
(They walk through into the lounge.)
E: Unfortunately, sir, you do realise that I shall have to treat you like a servant?
PR: Oh, I think I can cope with that, thank you, Blackadder.
E: And you will have to get used to calling me "Your Highness", Your Highness.
PR: "Your Highness, Your Highness."
E: No, just "Your Highness", Your Highness.
PR: That’s what I said, "Your Highness, Your Highness", Your Highness, Your Highness.
E: Yes, let’s just leave that for now, shall we? Complicated stuff obviously.
B: Big Nose is here… But what?.. Who?.. Where?.. How?..
E: Don’t even try to work it out Baldrick. Two people you know well have exchanged coats and now you don’t know which is which.
PR: I must say I’m pretty confused myself! Which one of us is Wellington?
E: (exasperated) Wellington is the man at the door.
PR: Oh. And the porpoise?
E: Hasn’t arrived yet sir. We’ll just have to fill in as best we can without it. Sir, if you would let the Duke in.
PR: Certainly, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)
E: And you’d better get out too, Baldrick.
B: Yes, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)
E: Oh God! If only they had a brain cell between them.
(The Prince ushers in Wellington.)
PR: The Duke of Wellington!
W: Have I the honour of addressing the Prince Regent, sir?
E: You do.
W: Hmm, congratulations, Highness, your bearing is far nobler than I’d been informed… (to the Prince) Take my hat at once, sir, unless you want to feel my boot in your throat! And be quicker about it than you were with the door.
PR: Yes, my lord.
W: I’m a Duke not a Lord! (clouts the Prince) Where were you trained, the Dago dancing class? Shall I have my people thrash him for you, Highness?
(The Prince signals "No" from behind Wellington.)
E: Errm.. No, he’s very new. At the moment I’m sparing the rod.
W: Ah! Fatal error. Give them an inch and before you know it they’ve got a foot, much more than that and you don’t have a leg to stand on. Get out! (Clouts the Prince). Now sir, to business. I am informed that your royal father grows ever more eccentric and at present believes himself to be (reads) "a small village in Lincolnshire, commanding spectacular views of the Nene valley." I therefore pass on my full account of the war on to you, the Prince of Wales. (hands Blackadder a saddle-bag)
E: Ah that’s excellent. Thank you. (feels in bag, takes out a note) "We won, signed Wellington." Well, that seems to sum it up very well. Was there anything else?
W: Two other trifling things Highness.. The men had a whip-round and got you this. Well, what I mean is I had the men roundly whipped until they got you this. It’s a cigarillo case engraved with the regimental crest of two crossed dead Frenchmen, emblazoned on a mound of dead Frenchmen motif.
E: Thank you very much. And the other trifling thing?
W: Your impending death, Highness.
E: Oh yes, of course, mind like a sieve.
W: Mmm, I can not deny I’m looking forward to it. Britain has the finest trade, the finest armies, the finest navies in the world. And what do we have for royalty? A mad Kraut sausage sucker and a son who can’t keep his own sausage to himself. The sooner you’re dead the better.
E: You’re very kind.
W: Now, you’re no doubt anxious to catch up with the news of the war. I have here the most recent briefs from my general in the field…
E: Yes, well if you would just like to pop them in the laundry basket on the way out. Tea?
W: Yes, immediately.
(Blackadder rings the bell.)
W: Now, let’s turn to the second front, my lord. (unfolds a map on the table)
E: Ah yes. (inspects map) Now, as I understand it Napoleon is in North Africa. And Nelson is stationed in…
W: Alaska. In case Bony should try to trick us by coming via the North
E: Yes… Perhaps a preferable stratagem, Your Grace, might be to harry him amid-ships as he leaves the Mediterranean. Trafalgar might be quite a good spot…
W: Trafalgar? Well, I’ll mention it to Nelson. I must say I’m beginning to regret the necessity of killing you, Your Highness. I’d been told by everybody that the Prince was a confounded moron.
E: Oh, no no no no no.
(The Prince enters with the tea-tray.)
W: Oh hell and buckshot! It’s that tiresome servant of yours again.
PR: Ooh, budge up, budge up. (sits down next to Blackadder)
W: How dare you, sir, sit in the presence of your betters! Get up!
PR: Oh yes, cripes. I forgot.
W: You speak when you’re spoken to. Unless you want to be flayed across a gun carriage. Well? (hits the Prince)
E: Sir, sir, I fear you have been too long a soldier. We no longer treat servants that way in London society.
W: Why, I hardly touched the man!
E: Aah, I think you hit him very hard.
W: Nonsense ,a hard hit would be like that! (hits the Prince, hard) I only hit him like that. (once more hits him)
E: No sir, a soft hit would be like this. (hits the Prince) Whereas you hit him like this. (and again, hard)
PR: (gets back to his feet) Please, um, I wonder if I might be excused, Your Highness, Your Highness.
E: Certainly. (Aside) I’m sorry about that, sir, but one has to keep up the pretence.
PR: No, no. I quite understand. You carry on the good work.
E: Very well sir. (once more hits him)
W: Hang on, this is bloody coffee! I ordered tea! (grabs the Prince by the ear and drags him back to the table) You really are a confounded fool. Aren’t you? I’d heard everywhere that the Prince was an imbecile whereas his servant Blackadder was respected about town. Now that I discover the truth I’m inclined to beat you to death. TEA!! (kicks the Prince out of the door)
E: Tell me, do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?
W: NEVER! There’s only one way to win a campaign: shout, shout and shout again.
E: You don’t think then that inspired leadership and tactical ability have anything to do with it?
W: NO! It’s all down to shouting. WAAGGHH!
E: I hear that conditions in your army are appalling.
W: Well I’m sorry, but those are my conditions and you’ll just have to accept them. That is until this evening when I shall kill you.
E: Hmm, who knows, maybe I shall kill you.
W: Dyaa. Nonsense. I’ve never been so much as scratched, my skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Which is more than you can say for my bottom.
E: Yes. One point, sir. I should, perhaps, warn you that while duelling I tend to put on my lucky wig and regimental accent.
W: That won’t help you. It would take a homicidal maniac in a claymore and a kilt to get the better of me!
E: Well that’s handy.
PR: I tell you Baldrick, I’m not leaving the kitchen until that man is out of the house.
(There is a knock on the door and the bell rings.)
B: It’s all right, Your Majesty, don’t worry, I’ll deal with this.
(The Prince hides behind the scullery door.)
MM: Ah hello Baldrick. I’ve brought your buns. Where’s Mr. Blackadder?
Oh, not upstairs still, running around after that port-swilling,
B: (carefully) I don’t know who you mean.
MM: Prince George, Baldrick. His boots smell so bad a man would need to have his nose amputated before taking them off. Well, that’s what Mr. Blackadder says.
B: As a joke.
MM: Didn’t you write a little poem about him last week?
B: No I didn’t.
MM: Ooh you did: In the Winter it’s cool, In the Summer it’s hot, But all the year round, Prince George is a clot. (laughs)
B: A lovely. I said Prince George is a lovely.
MM: Oh well. I’d better be off anyway. Tell Mr. Blackadder to expect
Mr. McAdder at five o’clock. Just as soon as that fat Prussian truffle pig has got his snout wedged into a bucket of tea-cakes. (makes grunting noises)
B: (calls after her) I think it must be next door you’re wanting, strange woman who I’ve never seen before Mrs. Miggins.
PR: (sharply) Baldrick!
B: Yes, Your Highness?
PR: Is it true? Did you really write a poem about how lovely I am?
B: (fondly) Yes, and Mr. Blackadder loves you too. (smiles sweetly)
PR: Well I must say. I find that very touching. I do.
(The bell rings again.)
PR: I wish they wouldn’t keep on doing that.
The Prince’s Lounge
W: Well goodbye sir. And may the best man win. I.e. me.
PR: Your tea, sir.
W: You’re late! Where the hell have you been for it, India? (hits him)
E: Or Ceylon? (also hits the Prince)
W: Or China? (kicks the Prince, who falls down onto the coffee-table) And don’t bother to show me the way out. I don’t want to die of old age before I get to the front door.
Mrs. Miggins’ Coffee Shop
(Blackadder enters, dressed in his normal clothes.)
E: Ah! Miggins. So where’s McAdder? I thought he was going to be here at five o’clock.
MM: Yes, I’m sorry. He’s just popped out. You look ever so similar to each other you know, it’s quite eerie.
E: (annoyed) Look, did you tell him to be here or not?
MM: I did, you just keep missing each other. I can’t imagine why.
MA: (enters) I’ll tell you why. It’s because there’s no coffee shop in
England big enough for two Blackadders.
E: Ah! Good day, cousin McAdder. I trust you are well.
MA: Aye, well enough.
E: And Morag?
MA: She bides fine.
E: And how stands that mighty army, the clan McAdder?
MA: They’re both well.
E: I always thought that Jamie and Angus were such fine boys.
MA: Angus is a girl. So tell me cousin, I hear you have a cunning plan.
E: I do, I do. I want you to take the place of the Prince Regent and kill the Duke of Wellington in a duel.
MA: Aye, and what’s in it for me?
E: Enough cash to buy the Outer Hebrides. What do you think?
MA: Fourteen shillings and six-pence? Well, it’s tempting. But I’ve got an even better plan. Why don’t I pretend to be the Duke of Wellington and kill the Prince of Wales in a duel? Then I could kill the King and be crowned with the ancient stone bonnet of McAdder.
MM: And I shall wear the granite gown and limestone bodice of MacMiggins, Queen of all the herds.
E: Look, for God’s sake, McAdder, you’re not Rob Roy. You’re a top kipper salesman with a reputable firm of Aberdeen fishmongers. Don’t throw it all away. If you kill the Prince they’ll just send the bailiffs round and arrest you.
MA: Oh blast, I forgot the bailiffs.
E: So we can return to the original plan then?
MA: No, I’m not interested. I’d rather go to bed with the Loch Lomond monster. And besides I have to be back in the office on Friday. I promised Mr. McNaulty I’d shift a particularly difficult bloater for him. Forget the whole thing. I’m off home with Miggsy.
MM: Yes, yes. Show me the glen where the kipper roams free. And forget Morag forever.
MA: No, never. Oh, I must do right by Morag. We must return to Scotland and you must fight in the old Highland way – bare breasted and each carrying an eight pound baby.
MM: Oh, yes, yes. I love babies. (kisses McAdder)
MA: You’re a woman of spirit! I look forward to burying you in the old Highland manner. Farewell Blackadder, you spineless goon! (they leave)
E: Oh God! Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.
The Prince’s Lounge
(Blackadder enters, dressed as the Prince.)
PR: Ah, Blackadder. It has been a wild afternoon full of strange omens.
I dreamt that a large eagle circled the room three times and then got
into bed with me and took all the blankets. And then I saw that it
wasn’t an eagle at all but a large black snake. Also Duncan’s horses
did turn and eat each other. As usual. Good portents for your duel, do you think?
E: Not very good sir. I’m afraid the duel is off.
E: As in "sod". I’m not doing it.
PR: By thunder, here’s a pretty game. You will stay, sir, and do duty by your Prince. Or I shall…
E: Or what? You port-brained twerp. I’ve looked after all my life. Even when we were babies I had to show which bit of your mother was serving the drinks.
PR: (kneels) Please please. You’ve got to help me. I don’t want to die. I’ve got so much to give. I want more time.
E: A poignant plea sir. Enough to melt the stoniest of hearts. But the answer, I’m afraid, must remain: "You’re going to die, fat pig."
PR: Oh, wait, wait, wait. I’ll give you everything.
E: The money, the castles,the jewellery?
E: The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of French lithographs?
E: The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his trousers every half hour?
PR: Yes, yes, alright.
E: Very well, I accept. A man may fight for many things: his country, his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally I’d mud wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock, and a sack of French porn. You’re on.
E: Right Baldrick, now here’s the plan. When he offers me the swords, I kick him in the nuts and you set fire to the building. In the confusion we claim a draw.
W: Ah, Your Highness. Let’s be about our business.
E: Now don’t forget Baldrick. You (motions the striking of a match) when I (raises knee).
W: Come sir. Choose your stoker.
(Wellington holds out a case containing two pink, fluffy cannon stokers.)
E: What, are we going to tickle each other to death?
W: No sir. We fight with cannon.
E: But I thought we were fighting with swords.
W: Swords! What do you think this is, the middle ages? Only girls fight with swords these days. Stand by your gun sir. Hup two three. Hup two three.
E: Wait a minute, what the…
W: Stand by cannon for loading procedure… Stoke. Muzzle. Wrench.
(Carries on in this way while Blackadder is talking) Crank the storm
barrel. Pull tee bar.
E: "Congratulations on choosing the Armstrong Whitworth four-pounder cannonette. Please read the instructions carefully and it should give years of trouble free maiming."
W: Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim…
E: Look, wait a minute.
(The cannon fires. Blackadder drops to the ground. Mournful music strikes up.)
B: Mr. B., Mr. B.! Sir, please help me get his coat off.
E: Leave it Baldrick. It doesn’t matter.
B: Yes it does. Blood’s hell to shift. I want to get it in to soak.
W: You die like a man sir. In combat.
E: You think so? Dammit, we must build a better world. When will the killing end?
W: You don’t think I too dream of peace? You don’t think that I too yearn to end this damn dirty job we call soldiering?
E: Frankly, no. My final wish on this Earth is that Baldrick be sold, to provide funds for a Blackadder foundation to promote peace, and to do research into the possibility of an automatic machine for cleaning shoes. And so I charge… (slumps back)
W: His Highness is dead.
E: (the music scratches to a halt) Actually, I’m not sure I am. Fortunately that cigarillo box you gave me was placed exactly at the point where the cannon-ball struck. (produces a very dented case). I always said smoking was good for you.
W: Ah ha ha. Honour is satisfied. God clearly preserves you for greatness. His Highness is saved. Hurrah.
PR: (enters) Umm, no actually it’s me, I’m His Highness. Well done Bladders, glad you made it.
W: What in the name of Bonapartes balls is this fellow doing now?
PR: Ahh, no no, I really am His Highness. It was all just larks, and darn fine larks at that I thought.
W: I have never, in all my campaigns, encountered such insolence! Your master survives an honourable duel and you cheek him like a French whoopsy! I can contain myself no longer! (draws his pistol and shoots the Prince)
PR: I die. I hope men will say of me that I did duty by my country.
E: I think that’s pretty unlikely sir. If I was you I’d try for something a bit more realistic.
PR: Like what?
E: That you hope men will think of you.. as a bit of a thicky.
PR: All right, I’ll hope that then. Toodle-oo everyone. Let you know and all that. (dies)
S: Here for His Majesty, The King of England.
K: Someone told me my son was here. I wish him to marry this rose bush. I want to make the wedding arrangements.
E: (thinking quickly) Here I am, Daddy. This is the Iron Duke, Wellington, commander of all your armed forces.
K: Yes I recognised the enormous conk. Ha ha ha.
W: He’s a hero. A man of wit and discretion.
K: Bravo. You know, my son, for the first time in my life I have a real fatherly feeling about you. People may say I’m stark raving mad and say the word Penguin after each sentence, but I believe that we two can make Britain Great – you as the Prince Regent and I as King Penguin.
E: Well, let’s hope eh? Wellington, will you come and dine with us at the palace? My family have a lot to thank you for.
W: Dyahh, with great pleasure. Your father may be as mad as a balloon, but I think you have the makings of a great king.
K: Ah, wunderbar er hoff seiht. Ja.
E: Oh and Baldrick? Clear away that dead butler will you.
(The King, Blackadder and Wellington exit leaving Baldrick cradling the Prince’s head)
B: (looks up) There’s a new star in heaven tonight… A new freckle on the nose of the giant pixie.
PR: Erm! No, actually Baldrick, I’m not dead. You see I had a cigarillo box too, look. (rummages in his jacket) Oh damn, I must have left it on the dresser… (dies)