Black Adder III, Episode 2
Ink and Incapability
E: Edmund Blackadder B: Baldrick G: Prince Regent George M: Mrs. Miggins
J: Dr. Samuel Johnson By: Lord George Gordon Byron C: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
S: Percy Bysshe Shelley (In reality, only one of those last three was alive
at the same time as Johnson: Coleridge was about 12 years old when Johnson
died. The others hadn't been born yet. I'm not sure of the exact years
of the Prince Regent.) (The words in the gobbledygook scene here are best
guesses. Nearly all of them have been looked up in dictionaries -- or at
least the parts of them have. Anyone with a closed-caption decoder who
can help with the words, though, please do.)
In Prince's House (in bedchamber) G: (wakes, shouts) Oh, oh, oh, Blackadder!
BLACKADDER! E: (enters) Your Highness. G: Wha--wha--what time is it? E:
Three o'clock in the afternoon, Your Highness. G: Oh, thank God for that;
I thought I'd overslept. E: I trust you had a pleasant evening, sir...?
G: 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. E: Oh, an absurd
suggestion, sir. G: You're right, it is absurd. E: ...unless, of course,
it was a particularly *stupid* donkey. G: You see? If only *I'd* thought
of saying that... E: 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
himself, as the flames licked higher, that it never occurred to him to
say, "I recant my Catholicism." G: 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." E: And how do you suggest this miracle is to be achieved,
Your Highness? G: 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. E: Would this be
the long-awaited Dictionary, sir? G: Oh, who cares about the title as long
as there's plenty of juicy murders in it. I hear it's a masterpiece. E:
No, sir, it is not. It's the most pointless book since "How To Learn French"
was translated into French. (moves into living area) G: (follows) You haven't
got anything personal against Johnson, have you Blackadder? E: Good Lord,
sir, not at all. In fact, I had never heard of him until you mentioned
him just now. G: But you do think he's a genius...? E: 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."
(presumably a mispronunciation of `dewlaps') G: Oh, close shave there,
then. Lucky you warned me. I was about to embrace this unholy arse to the
royal bosom. E: I'm delighted to have been instrumental of keeping your
bosom free of arses, sir. G: Bravo -- don't want to waste my valuable time
with wobblebottoms. Er, fetch some tea, will you, Blackadder? E: Certainly,
sir. G: Oh, and make it two cups, will you? That splendid brainbox, Dr.
Johnson, is coming round.
In Baldrick/Blackadder's Quarters E: (makes noise of disgust) B: Something
wrong, Mr. B? E: Oh, something's always wrong, Balders. (dumps all bottles
and glasses from the drinks tray he is carrying into a barrel, where they
all break) 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. B: I
thought he was the cleverest man in England. E: Baldrick, I'd bump into
cleverer people at a lodge meeting of the Guild of Village Idiots. B: That's
not what you said when you sent him your navel. E: *Novel*, Baldrick --
not navel. I sent him my novel. B: Well, novel or navel, it sounds a bit
like a bag of grapefruits to me. E: 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." B: Gertrude Perkins?
E: Yes, I gave myself a female pseudonym. Everybody's doing it these days:
Mrs. Ratcliffe, Jane Austen-- B: What, Jane Austen's a man? E: Of course
-- a huge Yorkshireman with a beard like a rhododendron bush. B: Oh, quite
a small one, then? E: 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. B: Perhaps your
book really isn't any good. E: 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.
B: And this is mine (takes a small piece of paper from the front of his
trousers). My magnificent octopus. E: (takes it) This is your novel, Baldrick?
(unfolds it) B: Yeah -- I can't stand long books. E: (reads) "Once upon
a time, there was a lovely little sausage called `Baldrick', and it lived
happily ever after." B: It's semi-autobiographical. E: And it's completely
utterly awful. Dr. Johnson will probably love it. (a bell rings) E: 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. (goes
up stairway) Oh, and prepare a fire for the Prince, will you, Baldrick?
B: What shall I use? E: Oh, any old rubbish will do. Paper's quite good.
Here, (crumples up Baldrick's `novel') try this for starters (throws paper
at Baldrick).
In Prince's House (knock at door) G: Enter! E: Dr. Johnson, Your Highness.
G: Ah, Dr. Johnson! Damn cold day! J: Indeed it is, sir -- but a very fine
one, for I celebrated last night the encyclopaedic implementation of my
pre-meditated orchestration of demotic Anglo-Saxon. G: (nods, grinning,
then speaks) Nope -- didn't catch any of that. J: Well, I simply observed,
sir, that I'm felicitous, since, during the course of the penultimate solar
sojourn, I terminated my uninterrupted categorisation of the vocabulary
of our post-Norman tongue. G: 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! E: 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. G: Yes, well, I'm a
slow reader myself... J: (places two manuscripts on the table, but picks
up the top one) Here it is, sir: the very cornerstone of English scholarship.
This book, sir, contains every word in our beloved language. G: Hmm. E:
Every single one, sir? J: (confidently) Every single word, sir! E: (to
Prince) Oh, well, in that case, sir, I hope you will not object if I also
offer the Doctor my most enthusiastic contrafribblarities. J: What? E:
`Contrafribblarites', sir? It is a common word down our way. J: Damn! (writes
in the book) E: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm anus-peptic, phrasmotic, even compunctious
to have caused you such pericombobulation. J: What? What? WHAT? G: What
are you on about, Blackadder? This is all beginning to sound a bit like
dago talk to me. E: I'm sorry, sir. I merely wished to congratulate the
Doctor on not having left out a single word. (J sneers) Shall I fetch the
tea, Your Highness? G: Yes, yes -- and get that damned fire up here, will
you? E: Certainly, sir. I shall return interphrastically. (exits) (J writes
some more) G: So, Dr. Johnson. Sit ye down. Now, this book of yours...tell
me, what's it all about? J: It is a book about the English language, sir.
G: I see! And the hero's name is what? J: There is no hero, sir. G: No
hero? Well, lucky I reminded you. Better put one in pronto! Ermm... call
him `George'. `George' is a good name for a hero. Er, now; what about heroines?
J: There is no heroine, sir...unless it is our Mother Tongue. G: Ah, the
*mother's* the heroine. Nice twist. How far have we got, then? Old Mother
Tongue is in love with George the Hero. Now what about murders? Mother
Tongue doesn't get murdered, does she? J: No she doesn't. No-one gets murdered,
or married, or in a tricky situation over a pound note! G: Well, now, look,
Dr. Johnson, I may be as thick as a whale omelette, but even I know a book's
got to have a plot. J: Not this one, sir. It is a book that tells you what
English words mean. G: I *know* what English words mean; I *speak* English!
You must be a bit of a thicko. J: (stand) Perhaps you would rather not
be patron of my book if you can see no value in it whatsoever, sir! G:
(stands) Well, perhaps so, sir! As it sounds to me as if my being patron
of this complete cowpat of a book would set the seal once and for all on
my reputation as an utter turnip-head! J: Well! It is a reputation well
deserved, sir! (sarcastically) Farewell! (opens door to find Edmund with
tea tray) E: Leaving already, Doctor? Not staying for your pendigestatery
interludicule? J: No, sir! Show me out! E: Certainly, sir -- anything I
can do to facilitate your velocitous extramuralisation. J: (to Prince)
You will regret this doubly, sir. Not only have you impecuniated (turns
to Edmund and makes a boasting noise, then continues) my Dictionary, but
you've also lost the chance to act as patron to the only book in the world
that is even better. E: Oh, and what is that, sir? "Dictionary II: The
Return of the Killer Dictionary"? J: No, sir! It is "Edmund: A Butler's
Tale" (Edmund knocks over some of the teacups) by Gertrude Perkins -- a
huge rollercoaster of a novel crammed with sizzling gypsies. (to Prince)
Had you supported it, sir, it would have made you and me and Gertrude millionaires.
E: (shocked) Millionaires!! (clears his throat as J and P look at him oddly)
J: But it was not to be, sir. I fare you well; I shall not return. E: (to
Prince) Excuse me, sir. (follows Johnson out) Er, Dr. Johnson... A word,
I beg you. J: A word with you, sir, can mean seven million syllables. You
might start now and not be finished by bedtime! (pauses, realised he's
forgotten something) Oh, blast my eyes! In my fury, I have left my Dictionary
with your foolish master! Go fetch it, will you? E: 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. J: 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. E: I think I can change his mind. J: 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. (exits)
Back in the Prince's House (a fire is blazing in the fireplace) E: Your
Highness, may I offer my congratulations? G: Well, thanks, Blackadder.
That pompous babboon won't be back in a hurry. E: Oh, on the contrary,
sir. Dr. Johnson left in the highest of spirits. G: What? E: He is utterly
thrilled at your promise to patronise his Dictionary. G: I told him to
sod off, didn't I? E: Yes, sir, but that was a joke...surely. G: Was it?
E: Certainly! and a brilliant one once more. G: (happy at the idea he managed
to pull off a joke, pretends that it was his intention all along) Yes,
yes! I...er...suppose it was, rather, wasn't it... E: So may I deliver
your note of patronage to Dr. Johnson as promised? G: Well, of course.
If that's what I promised, then that's what I must do. ...and I remember
promising it distinctly. E: Excellent. (to Baldrick) Nice fire, Baldrick.
B: Thank you, Mr. B. E: Right, let's get the book. Now; Baldrick, where's
the manuscript? B: You mean the big papery thing tied up with string? E:
Yes, Baldrick -- the manuscript belonging to Dr. Johnson. B: You mean the
baity fellow in the black coat who just left? E: Yes, Baldrick -- Dr. Johnson.
B: 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. E: 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, Baldrick: Where is Dr.
Johnson's manuscript? B: On the fire. E: (shocked) On the *what*? B: The
hot orangy thing under the stony mantlepiece. E: You *burned* the Dictionary?
B: Yup. E: You burned the life's work of England's foremost man of letters?
B: Well, you did say "burn any old rubbish." E: Yes, fine. G: Isn't it,
er...Isn't it going to be a bit difficult for me to patronise this book
if we've burnt it? E: Yes, it is, sir. If you would excuse me a moment...
G: 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. E: Baldrick,
will you join me in the vestibule? In the Vestibule E: (grabs Baldrick
by the lapels) *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. B: Me? E: Yes, you! B: Why me? E: Because you burnt
it, Baldrick. B: But then I'll go to Hell forever for stealing. E: 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 (`Literary Salon') (Shelley, Coleridge,
and Byron are at a table. Shelley sits up holding a handkerchief; Byron
stands very erect, staring straight ahead at nothing; Coleridge appears
dead. As Shelley begins to speak, the person at the next table stands and
moves to a table as far away as possible.) S: O, Love-bourne ecstasy that
is Mrs. Miggins, wilt thou bring me but one cup of the browned juicings
of that naughty bean we call `coffee', ere I die... M: (swoons) Ooohhhh,
you do have a way of words with you, Mr. Shelley! By: To Hell with this
fine talking. Coffee, woman! My consumption grows evermore acute, and Coleridge's
drugs are wearing off. M: Ohh, Mr. Byron, don't be such a big girl's blouse!
(cut to outside of shoppe...dogs bark) E: Don't forget the pencil, Baldrick.
B: Oh, I certainly won't, sir. (Edmund and Baldrick enter) E: Ah, good
day to you, Mrs. Miggins. M: (swoons and giggles) E: 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. By: Be quiet, sir. Can't you
see we're dying? M: Don't you worry about my poets, Mr. Blackadder. They're
not dead; they're just being intellectual. E: 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? By: We are here, sir, to pay homage
to the great Dr. Johnson, as, sir, should you! E: 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? (Johnson
enters) J: Friends, I have returned. (poets welcome him; Edmund says `Hurray')
By: So, sir, how was the Prince? J: (adjusting his powdered wig) The Prince
was and is an utter fool, and his household filled with cretinous servants.
(his gaze then falls upon Edmund, and he does a double-take while the poets
laugh) E: Good afternoon, sir. J: And you are the worst of them, sir. After
all your boasting, have you my Dictionary and my patronage? E: Not quite.
The Prince begs just a few more hours to really get to grips with it. J:
Bah!! Poets: Bah!! E: However, I was wondering if a lowly servant such
as I might be permitted to glance at a copy. J: COPY?! Poets and Johnson:
COPY?! J: There is no copy, sir. E: No copy? J: No, sir. Making a copy
is like fitting wheels to a tomato, time consuming and completely unnecessary.
(poets laugh) E: But what if the book got lost? J: I should not lose the
book, sir, (stands, coffee cup in hand, approaching Edmund menacingly)
and if any other man should, I would tear off his head with my bare hands
and feed it to the cat! (breaks coffee cup by squeezing) E: Well, that's
nice and clear. By: And I, Lord Byron, (unsheathing a sword) would summon
up fifty of my men, lay siege to the fellow's house and do bloody murder
on him. (rests sword on Baldrick's shoulder) C: (pointing a blade at Edmund)
And I would not rest until the criminal was hanging by his hair, with an
Oriental disembowelling cutlass thrust up his ignoble behind. E: I hope
you're listening to all this, Baldrick.
In Prince's House (Prince is peeling an apple) E: Sir, I have been unable
to replace the Dictionary. I am therefore leaving immediately for Nepal,
where I intend to live as a goat. G: Why? E: Because if I stay here, Dr.
Johnson's companions will have me brutally murdered, sir. G: Good God,
Blackadder, that's terrible! (aside) Do you know any other butlers? E:
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." G: In that case, something must
be done! B: I have a cunning plan, sir. G: Hurrah! Well, that's that, then.
E: 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." G: Great! Let's hear
it, then. B: 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. E:
Which pages? B: Well, not the same ones, of course. E: Yes, I think I'm
on the point of spotting the flaw in this plan, but do go on. Which pages
are they? B: Well, this is the brilliant bit: You write some new ones.
E: ...some new ones. You mean rewrite the Dictionary. I sit down tonight
and rewrite the Dictionary that took Dr. Johnson ten years. B: Yup. E:
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... G:
Perhaps you'd like me to lend a hand, Blackadder. I'm not as stupid as
I look. B: I *am* as stupid as I look, sir, but if I can help, I will.
E: 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. G: Oh, come
on, Blackadder, give us a try! E: Very well, sir, as you wish. Let's start
at the beginning, shall we? First: `A'. How would you define `a'? B: Ohh...`a'
(continues this in background) G: Oh, I love this! I love this: quizzies...Errmmm,
hang on, it's coming... ooohh, crikey, errmm, oh yes, I've got it! E: What?
G: Well, it doesn't really mean anything, does it? E: Good. So we're well
on the way, then. " `a'; impersonal pronoun; doesn't really mean anything."
Right! Next: `A'... `A-B'. (Baldrick and Prince ponder over this) B: Well,
it's a buzzing thing, isn't it. "A buzzing thing." E: Baldrick, I mean
something that starts with `A-B'. B: Honey? Honey starts with a bee. G:
He's right, you know, Blackadder. Honey does start a bee...and a flower,
too. E: Yes, look, this really isn't getting anywhere. And besides, I've
left out `aardvark'. G: Oh well, don't say we didn't give it a try. E:
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 simple
to eat, would you? Two slices of bread with something in between. B: What,
like Gerald, Lord Sandwich, had the other day? E: Yes -- a few rounds of
Geralders.
(Sometime later, it is nighttime. Edmund is sitting at desk writing the
dictionary. Candles flicker. Prince George and Baldrick come in) G: How
goes it, Blackadder? E: Not all that well, sir. G: Well, let's have a look...(reads)
"Medium-sized insectivore with protruding nasal implement." (pauses) Doesn't
sound much like a bee to me. E: (shouts) It's an aardvark! Can't you see
that, Your Highness? It's a bloody aardvark!! G: Oh dear -- still on `aardvark',
are we? E: 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. G: Got a bit stuck, have
you? E: 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. G: Well, don't panic,
Blackadder, because I have some rather good news. E: Oh? What? G: Well,
we didn't take `no' for an answer, and have, in fact, been working all
night. I've done `B'. E: Really? And how have you got on? G: Well, I had
a bit of trouble with `belching', but I think I got it sorted out in the
end. (burps) Oh no, there I go again! (laughs) E: You've been working on
that joke for some time, haven't you, sir? G: Well, yes, I have, as a matter
of fact, yes. E: Since you started... G: Basically. E: So, in fact, you
haven't done any work at all. G: Not as such, no. E: Great. Baldrick, what
have you done? B: I've done `C' and `D'. E: Right, let's have it, then.
B: Right. "Big blue wobbly thing that mermaids live in." E: What's that?
B: `Sea'. E: Yes -- tiny misunderstanding. Still, my hopes weren't high.
Now; what about `D'? B: I'm quite pleased with `dog'. E: Yes, and your
definition of `dog' is...? B: "Not a cat." E: Excellent. Excellent! Your
Highness, may I have a word? G: Certainly. E: 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. G: That's right,
Blackadder, and I thank you for it. E: 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. G: 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! E: 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.
G: Can't I, by God! E: No. G: 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? (exits) E: (mutters) You're not; you're German. (to Baldrick)
Get me some coffee, Baldrick. If I fall asleep before Monday, we're doomed!
(Monday morning) B: Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up... E: What time is
it? B: Monday morning. E: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my God! I've overslept!
Where's the quill? Where's the parchment? B: I don't know. Maybe Dr. Johnson's
got some with him. E: WHAT??! B: He's outside. E: (screams) AAAOOOOHHHH!
(Johnson enters) J: Are you ill, sir? E: 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. J: I don't
think so. E: (exclaims) Oh God! We've been burgled!! (pauses) What? J:
I think it's an awful dicitonary, full of feeble definitions and ridiculous
verbiage. I've come to ask you to chuck the damn thing in the fire. E:
Are you sure? J: I've never been so sure of anything in my life, sir. E:
I love you, Dr. Johnson, and I want to have your babies. (they embrace;
Edmund notices a woman standing behind Johnson) Oh, sorry, excuse me, Dr.
Johnson, but my Auntie Marjorie has just arrived. (looks at Baldrick, who
has an dog's head) Baldrick, who gave you permission to turn into an Alsatian?
(Baldrick waves; Edmund realises the absurdity of the scene) Oh God, it's
a dream, isn't it? (Johnson, Baldrick and Auntie twirl out the door) It's
a bloody dream! (sound of harps is heard) Dr. Johnson doesn't want us to
burn his Dictionary at all.
(Monday morning - Take Two) B: Mr. Blackadder, time to wake up... E: What
time is it? B: Monday morning. E: (panics) Monday morning?! Oh my God!
I've overslept! Where's the quill? Where's the parchment? B: I don't know.
Maybe Dr. Johnson's got some with him. E: WHAT??! B: He's outside. E: AA--
Now, hang on. Hang on. If we go on like this, you're going to turn into
an Alsatian again. (Johnson and other poets bang noisily at the door) E:
Oh my God! Quick, Baldrick, we've got to escape. S: (?), sir! Bring out
the Dictionary at once. By: Bring it out, sir, or, in my passion, I shall
kill everyone by giving them syphilis! C: Bring it out, sir, and also any
opium plants you may have around there. J: Bring it out, sir, or we shall
break down the door! E: (opens the door) Ah, good morning. Dr. Johnson,
Lord Byron-- J: Where is my Dictionary? E: And what dictionary would this
be? J: 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-- E: Am I to presume that my elaborate bluff has not worked? J:
Dictionary! E: Right, well, the truth is, Doctor -- now, don't get cross,
don't over- react -- the truth is: we burnt it. J: Then you die! (Poets
all raise their swords to Edmund; Prince George enters from his sleeping
quarters, carrying the dictionary) G: 'morning, everyone. You know, this
Dictionary really is a cracking good read. It's an absolutely splendid
job! J: My Dictionary! (to Edmund) But you said you burned it! E: Erm...
G: I think it's a splendid book, and I look forward to patronising it enormously!
J: Oh, well, thank you, sir. Well, I think I'm man enough to sacrifice
the pleasure of killing to maintain the general good humour. (to poets)
There's to be no murder today, gentlemen. (poets complain) But prepare
to Mrs. Miggins' -- I shall join you there later for a roister you will
never forget! (poets cheer and exit) J: (to George) So, ahem, tell me,
sir, what words particularly interested you? G: Oh, er, nothing... Anything,
really, you know... J: Ah, I see you've udnerlined a few (takes dictionary,
reads): `bloomers'; `bottom'; `burp'; (turns a page) `fart'; `fiddle';
`fornicate'? G: Well... J: Sir! I hope you're not using the first English
dictionary to look up rude words! E: I wouldn't be too hopeful; that's
what all the other ones will be used for. B: (to Edmund) Sir, can I look
up `turnip'? E: `Turnip' isn't a rude word, Baldrick. B: It is if you sit
on one. J: Really, sir, we have more important business in hand. I refer,
of course, to the works of the mysterious Gertrude Perkins. E: Mysterious
no more, sir. It is time for the truth. I can, at last, reveal the identity
of the great Gertrude Perkins. J: Sir, who is she? E: She, sir, is me,
sir. I am Gertrude Perkins. G: Good Lord!! E: 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. J: Why, I must have left it here when I
left the Dictionary. G: This is terribly exciting!!! E: Baldrick, fetch
my novel. B: Novel? E: Yes -- the big papery thing tied up with string.
B: What, like the thing we burnt? E: Exactly like the thing we burnt. B:
So you're asking for the big papery thing tied up with string, exactly
like the thing we burnt. E: Exactly. B: We burnt it. E: So we did. Thank
you, Baldrick -- seven years of my life up in smoke. Your Highness, would
you excuse me a moment? G: By all means. (Edmund exits) E: (from outside)
OH GOD, NO!!!!!!!!!!!! (re-enters) Thank you, sir. J: Burned, you say?
That's most inconvenient. A burned novel is like a burned dog: You-- E:
Oh shut up! B: (to Johnson) Sir, I have a novel. (gives Johnson the bit
of paper seen earlier) J: (reads) "Once upon a time there was a lovely
little sausage called `B--" `Sausage'?! `SAUSAGE'?!!!!! Oh, blast your
eyes! (throws paper down and exits angrily) B: Oh, well, I didn't think
it was that bad! E: (looking inside the Dictionary) I think you'll find
he left `sausage' out of his Dictionary, Baldrick. (shuts the Dictionary,
but notices something on the first page) Oh, and `aardvark'... G: Oh, come
on, Blackadder; it's not all that bad -- nothing a nice roaring fire can't
solve. Er, Baldrick, do the honours, will you? B: Certainly, Your Majesty.
(Prince and Edmund exit. Baldrick picks up Edmund's crumpled papers from
trying to write the Dictionary, and the real Dictionary. He thumbs through
the Dictionary, then tosses it into the fire.)
(End/Credits roll)
For the BENEFIT of SEVERAL VIEWERS
MR. CURTIS & MR. ELTON'S Much admir'd Comedy
B L A C K A D D E R T h e T H I R D
OR INK and INCAPABILITY
was performed with appropriate Scenery Dresses etc. by
EDMUND BLACKADDER, butler to the Prince, Mr. ROWAN ATKINSON
Baldrick, a dogsbody, Mr. TONY ROBINSON
The Prince Regent, their master, Mr. HUGH LAURIE
Dr. Samuel Johnson, noted for his fat dictionary, Mr. ROBBIE COLTRANE
Mrs. Miggins, a coffee shoppekeeper, Miss. HELEN ATKINSON-WOOD
Shelley,\ Mr. LEE CORNES
Byron, > romantic junkie poets Mr. STEVE STEEN
Coleridge,/ Mr. JIM SWEENEY
MUSIC (never perform'd before), Mr. HOWARD GOODALL
designer of graphics, Mr. GRAHAM McCALLUM
buyer of properties, Miss. JUDY FARR
designer of costumes, Miss. ANNIE HARDINGE
designer of make-up, Miss. VICKY POCOCK
mixer of vision, Miss. ANGELA WILSON
supervisor of cameras, Mr. RON GREEN
editor of videotape, Mr. CHRIS WADSWORTH
director of lighting, Mr. RON BRISTOW
co-ordinator of technicalities, Mr. JOHN LATUS
supervisor of sound, Mr. PETER BARVILLE
assistant to production, Miss. NIKKI COCKCROFT
assistant manager of floors, Mr. DUNCAN COOPER
manager of production, Miss. OLIVIA HILL
the designer, Mr. ANTONY THORPE
the director, Miss. MANDIE FLETCHER
the producer, Mr. LLOYD
To conclude with Rule Britannia in full chorus
NO MONEY RETURN'D
(C) BBC MCMLXXXVII