Messenger: My Lord, news: the Swiss have invaded France.
King: Excellent! (to one of the men standing) Wessex, while they’re away, take ten
thousand troops and pillage Geneva.
Chiswick: But the Swiss are our allies, My Lord.
King: Oh yes… Well, er, get them to dress up as Germans, will you?
King: Chiswick, remind me to send flowers to the King of France in sympathy for the
death of his son.
Chiswick: The one you had murdered, My Lord…
King: Yes, that’s the fellow.
Baldrick: My God, what’s happened to your neck?
Edmund: Erm, er, well, well, well, well, they’re love bites, actually!
Baldrick: Look more like dog bites to me.
Edmund: Well, yes, yes, she was, erm, a bit of an animal!
Percy: Really, My Lord!
Edmund: Oh yes!
Percy: Fight to the death, eh!
Edmund: Oh yes. Well, as my tutor, Old Bubbleface used to say, "Make love and be
merry, for tomorrow you may catch some disgusting skin disease."
Baldrick: Actually, I’d be prepared to swear they were dog bites.
Edmund: They are not dog bites! She was very attractive.
Baldrick: Yeah: shiny coat, wet nose, clear eyes…
Percy: You know, they do say that the Infanta’s eyes are more beautiful than the famous
Stone of Galveston.
Edmund: Mm! … What?
Percy: The famous Stone of Galveston, My Lord.
Edmund: And what’s that, exactly?
Percy: Well, it’s a famous blue stone, and it comes … from Galveston.
Edmund: I see. And what about it?
Percy: Well, My Lord, the Infanta’s eyes are bluer than it, for a start.
Edmund: I see. And have you ever seen this stone?
Percy: (nods) No, not as such, My Lord, but I know a couple of people who have, and they
say it’s very very blue indeed.
Edmund: And have these people seen the Infanta’s eyes?
Percy: No, I shouldn’t think so, My Lord.
Edmund: And neither have you, presumably.
Percy: No, My Lord.
Edmund: So, what you’re telling me, Percy, is that something you have never seen is
slightly less blue than something else you have never seen.
Percy: (finally begins to grasp) Yes, My Lord.
Infanta: Tu nariz mas pequen~a que yo esperara.
Don: Your nose is smaller than I expected.
Edmund: I have suffered no similar disappointment.
Baldrick: Why not make her think you prefer the company of men?
Edmund: But I do, Baldrick, I do!
Baldrick: No, no, My Lord. I mean, erm, the, er, intimate company of men…?
Edmund: You don’t mean…like the Earl of Doncaster…?
Baldrick: I mean just like the Earl of Doncaster.
Edmund: That great radish? That steaming great left-footer? The Earl of Doncaster,
Baldrick, has been riding side-saddle since he was seventeen.
Baldrick: Mm! And who would want to marry the Earl of Doncaster?
Edmund: Well, no-one wou– (realises) Brilliant! Of course! No- one would marry the Earl
of Doncaster! … except, perhaps, the Duke of Beaufort.
Harry: You see, Archbishop Godfrey was coming out of the Duke of Winchester’s
Edmund: …who had just died, leaving all his lands to the Church?
– Well, as a matter of fact, yes.
– And so the King was really after his blood, presumably.
– Well, I dare say, but the point of the matter is that, at that moment, round the corner,
came Sir Mortimer.
– The King’s hired killer…
– No, no, no. Mortimer: that tall, rather striking fellow with no ears.
– Yes, that’s him.
– Well, he saw the Archbishop and rushed towards him with his head bowed, in order to
receive his blessing, and, er, unfortunately, killed him stone dead.
– Mortimer was wearing a Turkish helmet.
– Oh, I see, yes: one of those with the two feet spike coming out of the top?
– It’s one of those things they normally use for butting their enemies in the stomach and
(Edmund joins in) killing them stone dead.
(a fanfare is played to announce the beginning of the appointment ceremony)
Edmund: Fingers crossed…
King: Members of the Court and, uh, Clergy: I have, at last — after careful consultation
with the Lord God; His Son, Jesus Christ; and His Insubstantial Friend, the Holy Ghost —
decided upon the next Archbishop. (there is a murmuring among those gathered) May he last
longer in his post than his predecessors.
Edmund: (to his friends) Fat chance!
King: I appoint, to the Holy See of Canterbury, my own son… (Baldrick and Percy are very
excited; Edmund points a bit toward Harry)
King: …Edwin, Duke of Edinburgh!
(in castle dining room; Queen is eating at one end of the long table, and looks up as
she hears her husband’s voice approach)
King: DIE, YOU TURKISH DOG! (They are sword sparring. King forces Harry to the table.)
King: YOU TURKISH PIG!
Harry: Father, it’s me! Pax!!!
King: Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, Harry. You’re improving.
Edmund: Ah. Well, let’s start with the pardons, shall we?
Baldrick: Right. Well, this is a fair selection. Basically, you seem to get what you pay
for. They run all the way from this one, which is a pardon for talking with your mouth
full, signed by an apprentice curate in Tukesbury.
Edmund: Ah. How much is that?
Baldrick: Two pebbles. …all the way up to this one, which is a pardon for (reads)
anything whatsoever, including murder, adultery, or dismemberment of (Edmund reads along)
a friend or relative.
Edmund: (reads) "Dear Enemy: I curse you, and hope that something slightly
unpleasant happens to you, like an onion falling on your head."
Baldrick: Well, that is the bottom end of the market. They run all the way to this one,
for four ducats.
Edmund: (reads) "Dear Enemy: may the Lord hate you and all your kind, may you be
turned orange in hue, and may your head fall off at an awkward moment."
Percy: Sorry I’m late.
Edmund: No, don’t bother apologizing. I’m sorry you’re alive.
Percy: Oh good, I see the target is ready. [Picks up the bow] I’d like to see the Spaniard
who could make his way past me.
Edmund: Well, go to Spain. There are millions of them.
Percy: I’ll advise them to stay there then. Keep their hands off our women.
Edmund: Oh God, who is she this time?
Percy: I don’t know what you mean. Aah, ouch, aah. [Edmund succeeds in pilfering a letter
Edmund: Aah, and who is Jane?
Percy: I’m sworn to secrecy. Torture me, kill me, you shall never know. Ooh, ouch… Jane
Herrington. We’re very much in love, my lord.
Edmund: This is the Jane Herrington?
Edmund: Jane – bury-me-in-a-Y-shaped-coffin – Herrington.
Percy: I.., I think maybe there are two Jane Herringtons.
Edmund: No… Tall, blond, elegant?
Percy: Right, that’s right.
Edmund: Goes like a privy door when the plague is in town? Come on, get on with your shot.
You’ll get over her. … [Percy aims]
Edmund: I did. … [Percy aims again]
Edmund: So did Baldrick actually. [Percy’s shot ends up way too low]
Edmund: Well, Bob, welcome on board. Sorry Baldrick, any reason why you are still here?
Baldrick: Euh .. I’ve got nowhere to go, my lord.
Edmund: O surely you will be allowed to starve to death in one of the royal parks.
Baldrick: I’ve been in your service since I was two and a half, my lord.
Edmund: Well that is the why I am so utterly sick of the sight of you.
Baldrick: Couldn’t I just stay here and do the same job but for no wages?
Edmund: Well, you know where you will have to live.
Baldrick: In the gutter.
Edmund: And you’ll have to work a bit harder too.
Baldrick: Of course, my lord.
Edmund: All right. Go and get Bob’s stuff in and chuck your filthy muck out into the
Baldrick: God bless you, sweet master.
Edmund: Never had anything you doctors didn’t try to cure with leeches. A leech on my
ear for ear ache, a leech on my bottom for constipation.
Doctor: They’re marvellous, aren’t they?
Edmund: Well, the bottom one wasn’t. I just sat there and squashed it.
Doctor: You know the leech comes to us on the highest authority?
Edmund: Yes. I know that. Dr. Hoffmann of Stuttgart, isn’t it?
Doctor: That’s right, the great Hoffmann.
Edmund: Owner of the largest leech farm of Europe.
Doctor: Yes. Well, I cannot spend all day gossiping. I’m a busy man. As far as this case
is concerned I have now had time to think it over and I can strongly recommend a [in
chorus] course of leeches.
Edmund: Yes. I ‘ll pop a couple down my codpiece before I go to bed ?
Edmund: Tell me Young crone, is this Putney?
Crone: That it be… that it be…
Edmund: "Yes it is", not "That it be". You don’t have to talk in that
stupid voice to me, I’m not a tourist. I seek information about a Wisewoman.
Crone: Ah, the Wisewoman.. the Wisewoman.
Edmund: Yes, the Wisewoman.
Crone: Two things, my lord, must thee know of the Wisewoman. First, she is … a woman!
…and second, she is …
Crone: You do know her then?
Edmund: No, just a wild stab in the dark which is incidentally what you’ll be getting if
you don’t start being a bit more helpful. Do you know where she lives?
Crone: Of course.
Crone: Here. Do you have an appointment?
Crone: Well, you can go in anyway.
Edmund: Thank you Young crone. Here is a purse of moneys… which I’m not going to give to
Bob (= Kate): Prepare to be amazed. [Bob starts unbuttoning her blouse]
Edmund: Oh no. You haven’t got one of these birthmarks shaped like a banana, have you?
Edmund: Or, or, or a tattoo saying "Get it here"?
Edmund: Oh God. You’ve got one of those belly buttons that sticks outward, haven’t you?
Bob: No my lord.
Edmund: Now what can it possibly be? [Mysterious music on a flute]
Edmund: Aah… good Lord!
Percy: Ourgh… well euh.. [deep voice] Edmund, there has been some discussion around
the Court on the subject of who’s going to be your best man and I thought it might be the
moment to bring the subject to a conclusion.
Edmund: Ah yes, Percy. I would like you…
Percy: Oh, I’m so proud!
Edmund: Please let me finish. I would like you to take this letter to Dover where is
recently docked the galleon of my old school friend and adventurer Lord Flashheart. He
shall be my best man.
Edmund: [to the old man standing near them] Excuse me, could you move along please.
Look, I’m waiting for my father in law. Last thing I want is some scruffy old beggar
blocking the church door, smelling of cabbage.
Father: I am your father in law.
Edmund: Oh no… All right, how much you want to clear off?
Kate: Edmund, how could you? He’s my father, my only living relative.
Father: Ten pounds should do the trick.
Edmund: All right, there we go.
Kate: Edmund, you mustn’t!
Edmund: No, don’t worry, I’ll get Baldrick to beat him up after the ceremony. We’ll get
the money back.
Queen: Ah Edmund. Could we get on do you think? I want to get to the reception so I can
get squiffy and seduce someone.
Edmund: Yes.. oh.. unfortunately ma’m, my best man still has not arrived.
Queen: Well, get another one.
Edmund: Ma’m, there is no one else I can really think of.
Edmund: Sorry Percy?
Percy: Nothing my lord, just clearing my throat.
Edmund: Don’t. I don’t want you coughing all the way through the ceremony.
Queen: Oh, come on Edmund. You must be able to think of another best man.
Edmund: Well, I suppose I could ask Percy. Percy!
Percy: My lord!
Edmund: Can you think of another best man?
Percy: Well my lord. One name does spring to mind.
Edmund: Yes. But I can’t ask Baldrick. He’s a bridesmaid and besides, I need a friend, an
equal, an old and trusty companion.
Percy: I think there is one person in the room who fits the description.
Edmund: Of course… Nursie! How do you fancy putting on a pair of hose and being my best
Flashheart: It’s me, Flash! Flash by name, Flash by nature. Hurrah!
Edmund: Where have you been?
Flashheart: Where haven’t I been! ..Waugh!!!.. But I’m here now. Who is that?
Edmund: I don’t know, but he is in your place.
Flashheart: Not for long. Hold that.
[Hands his sword to Baldrick, then throws Percy through the door]
Flashheart: Thanks bridesmaid, like the beard. Gives me something to hang on to.
Blackadder : What are you wearing around your neck?
Percy : Ah! It’s my new ruff!
Blackadder : You look like a bird who’s swallowed a plate.
Percy : It’s the latest fashion actually and as a matter of fact it makes me look rather
Blackadder : To another plate swallowing bird perhaps. If it was blind and hadn’t had it
Melchett : Unhappily Blackadder, the Lord High Executioner is dead.
Blackadder : Oh woe! Murdered of course.
Melchett : No, oddly enough no. They usually are but this one just got careless one night
and signed his name on the wrong dotted line. They came for him while he slept.
Baldrick : Don’t worry mister B, I have a cunning plan to solve the problem.
Blackadder : Yes Baldrick, let us not forget that you tried to solve the problem of your
mother’s low ceiling by cutting off her head.
Baldrick : My favourite’s the Shadow. What a man! They say he’s half way to being the
new Robin Hood.
Blackadder : Why only half way?
Baldrick : Well he steals from the rich, but he hasn’t gone round to giving it to the poor
Blackadder : If you can’t make money, you’ll have to marry it.
Prince George : 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…
Blackadder : Broke?
Prince George : Well, yes, I suppose so.
Blackadder : And don’t forget sir, that the modern church smiles on roaring and gorging
within wedlock, and indeed rogering is keenly encouraged.
Prince George : And the puking?
Blackadder : Mm. I believe still very much down to the conscience of the individual
Blackadder : Caroline of Brunswick is the only available princess in Europe.
Baldrick : And what’s wrong with her?
Blackadder : 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!
Baldrick : All right! Which one do you want me to do first?
Blackadder : No, 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
Blackadder : Have you ever been to Wales Baldrick?
Baldrick : No, but I’ve often thought I’d like to.
Blackadder : Well don’t, it’s a ghastly place. Huge gangs of tough sinewy men roam the
valleys terrorising 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.
Blackadder : 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
Baldrick : Oh sir, you’re not going to become a highwayman, are you?
Blackadder : No I’m auditioning for the part of Arnold the bat in Sheridon’s new comedy.
Baldrick : Oh that’s alright then.
Blackadder : Baldrick, have you no idea what irony is?
Baldrick : Yeah! It’s like goldy and bronzy, only it’s made of iron.
Blackadder : Well saddle my horse then.
Baldrick : What d’you think you’ve been eating for the last two months?
Blackadder : Well go out into the street and hire me a horse!
Baldrick : 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?
Sally : Oh, I’m overcome. Take me with you to live a life of the wild rogue, cuddling
under haystacks and making love in the branches of tall trees.
Blackadder : Madam, sadly I must decline. I fear my horse would collapse with you on top
of him as well as me!
Baldrick : I could try!
Blackadder : No Quicksilver, you couldn’t.
Baldrick : 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.
Blackadder : Oh alright, very well then (kisses Baldrick). All fair now?
Baldrick : Not really, no.
Blackadder : Teh, no pleasing some horses. Hi-ho Quicksilver.Baldrick : Neigh.
Blackadder : An unwise action, Baldrick, since Mad McAdder is a homicidal maniac.
Baldrick : My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.
Blackadder : 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.
Baldrick : I love my mum.
Blackadder : And I love chops and sauce but I don’t seek their advice.
Prince George : Sink me Blackadder if I haven’t just had the most wonderful evening of
Blackadder : Tell me all sir.
Prince George : Well as you know when I set out I looked divine. At the party as I passed
all eyes turned.
Blackadder : And I daresay quite a few stomachs.
Prince George : Then I shall flee. How’s your French Blackadder?
Blackadder : Parfait monsieur. But I fear France will be not far enough.
Prince George : Well how’s your Mongolian.
Blackadder : Chang hatang motzo motzo. But I fear Wellington is a close personal friend of
the chief Mongol. They were at Eton together.
Prince George : I’m doomed. Doomed as the dodo.
Prince George : No wait Blackadder. Perhaps this disgusting degraded creature is some
sort of blessing in disguise.
Blackadder : Well if he is it’s a very good disguise.
Prince George : After all did not our Lord send a lowly earthworm to comfort Moses in his
Blackadder : No.
Prince George : Well it’s the sort of thing he might have done.
Blackadder : Tell me do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?
Wellington : NEVER! There’s only one way to win a campaign shout, shout and shout again.
Blackadder : You don’t think that inspired leadership and tactical ability have anything
to do with it?
Wellington : NO! It’s all down to shouting. WAAGGHH!
Prince George : 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. And also Duncan’s horses did turn up and eat each other. As usual. Good portents
for your duel do you think.
Blackadder : Not very good sir. I’m afraid the duel is off.
Prince George : OFF?
Blackadder : As in sod. I’m not doing it.
Wellington : Come sir. Choose your stoker.
Blackadder : What’s this? Are we going to tickle each other to death?
Wellington : No sir. We fight with cannon.
Blackadder : But I thought we were fighting with swords.
Wellington : 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.
Blackadder : Wait a minute.
Wellington : Stand by cannon for loading procedure. Stoke. Muzzle. Wrench. Crank the storm
barrel. Pull tee bar.
Blackadder : "Congratulations on choosing the Armstrong Whitworth four pounder
cannonnette. Please read the instructions carefully and it should give years of trouble
Wellington : Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim…
Blackadder : Look, wait a minute.
Wellington : FIRE!