All language subtitles for Blackadder.S03E02.DVDX265Panda.en

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Oh, Blackadder! Blackadder!

- Your Highness.
- What time is it?

Three o'clock in the
afternoon, Your Highness.

Thank God for that,
I thought I'd overslept.

I trust you had a
pleasant evening, sir?

Well, no, actually. The most
extraordinary thing happened.

Last night I was having a bit of a
snack at the Naughty Hellfire Club,

and some fellow said that I had the
wit and sophistication of a donkey.

- An absurd suggestion, sir.
- You're right, it is absurd.

Unless, of course, it was a
particularly stupid donkey.

If only I'd thought
of saying that.

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."

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."

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

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.

Would this be the long
awaited dictionary, sir?

Who cares about the title as long as
there's plenty of juicy murders in it.

- I hear it's a masterpiece.
- No, sir, it is not.

It's the most pointless book
since "How To Learn French"

was translated into French.

You haven't got anything personal
against Johnson, have you Blackadder?

Good Lord, sir, not at all.

In fact, I had never heard of him
until you mentioned him just now.

- But you do think he's a genius?
- No, sir, I do not.

Unless, of course, the definition of
"genius" in his ridiculous dictionary

is "a fat dullard
or wobblebottom;

a pompous ass with
sweaty dewflaps."

Close shave there, then.
Lucky you warned me.

I was about to embrace this
unholy arse to the royal bosom.

I'm delighted to have
been instrumental

in keeping your bosom
free of arses.

Bravo! I don't want to waste my
valuable time with wobblebottoms.

Fetch some tea, will you, Blackadder?
Make it two cups, will you?

That splendid brainbox Dr Johnson
is coming round.

Something wrong, Mr B?

Something's always
wrong, Balders.

The fact that I'm not a
millionaire aristocrat

with the sexual capacity of a
rutting rhino is a constant niggle.

But, today, something's
even wronger.

That globulous fraud, Dr Johnson,
is coming to tea.

I thought he was the
cleverest man in England.

I'd bump into cleverer people

at a lodge meeting of the Guild
of Village Idiots.

That's not what you said
when you sent him your navel.

Novel, Baldrick, not navel.
I sent him my novel.

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

The phrase, Baldrick, is
"a case of sour grapes",

and yes it bloody well is.

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."

Gertrude Perkins?

Yes, I gave myself
a female pseudonym.

Everybody's doing it these days:
Mrs Radcliffe, Jane Austen...

- Jane Austen's a man?
- Of course.

A huge Yorkshireman with a beard
like a rhododendron bush.

Quite a small one, then?

Compared to Dorothy
Wordsworth's, certainly.

James Boswell is the only real
woman writing at the moment,

and that's just because she wants
to get inside Johnson's britches.

Perhaps your book
really isn't any good.

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 18th century,

with some
hot gypsies thrown in.

My magnum opus, Baldrick.

Everybody has one novel in them,
and this is mine.

And this is mine.

My magnificent octopus.

- This is your novel, Baldrick?
- Yeah, I can't stand long books.

"Once upon a time, there was a
lovely little sausage called Baldrick,

and it lived happily ever after."

- It's semi autobiographical.
- And it's completely utterly awful.

Dr Johnson will probably love it.

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.

- And prepare a fire for the Prince.
- What shall I use?

Any old rubbish will do.
Paper's quite good.

Here, try this for starters.

Enter!

- Dr Johnson, Your Highness.
- Ah, Dr Johnson!

Damn cold day!

Indeed it is, sir,
but a very fine one.

I celebrated last night
the encyclopaedic implementation

of my premeditated orchestration
of demotic Anglo-Saxon.

Didn't catch any of that.

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.

I don't know what you're
talking about,

but it sounds damn saucy,
you lucky thing.

I know some liberal-minded
girls,

but I've never penultimated
any of them in a solar sojourn,

or been given any
Norman tongue.

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.

Yes, well, I'm a
slow reader myself.

Here it is, sir, the very
cornerstone of English scholarship.

This book, sir, contains every word
in our beloved language.

- Every single one, sir?
- Every single word, sir!

Well, in that case, sir,

I hope you will not object
if I also offer the Doctor

my most enthusiastic
contrafribblarities.

- What?
- "Contrafribblarities", sir.

- It is a common word down our way.
- Damn!

Oh, I'm sorry, sir.
I'm anaspeptic, phrasmotic,

even compunctious to have caused
you such pericombobulation.

What? What? What?

What are you on
about, Blackadder?

This is all beginning to sound
a bit like dago talk to me.

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?

Yes, yes. And get that damned
fire up here, will you?

Certainly, sir.

I shall return interphrastically.

So, Dr Johnson. Sit ye down.

Now. This book of yours,
tell me, what's it all about?

It is a book about the
English language, sir.

I see. And the
hero's name is what?

- There is no hero, sir.
- No hero?

Well, lucky I reminded you.
Better put one in pronto!

Call him George. George is a good name
for a hero. Now, what about heroines?

There is no heroine, sir,
unless it is our Mother Tongue.

Ah, the mother's the heroine.
Nice twist.

How far have we got, then?

Old Mother Tongue is in love
with George the Hero.

What about murders? Mother Tongue
doesn't get murdered, does she?

No she doesn't.

No one gets murdered,
or married,

or in a tricky situation
over a pound note.

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.

Not this one, sir. It is a book that
tells you what English words mean.

I know what English words
mean, I speak English!

You must be a bit of a thicko.

Perhaps you would rather
not be patron of my book

if you can see no value
in it whatsoever, sir!

Perhaps so, sir!
As it sounds to me as if my

being patron of this
complete cowpat of a book

will set the seal once and for all on
my reputation as an utter turnip head.

Well, it is a reputation well
deserved, sir! Farewell!

Leaving already, Doctor? Not staying
for your pendigestatery interludicule?

- No, sir! Show me out!
- Certainly, sir.

Anything I can do to facilitate
your velocitous extramuralisation.

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.

Oh, and what is that, sir?

"Dictionary II: The Return
of the Killer Dictionary"?

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.

Millionaires!

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

Excuse me, sir.

Dr Johnson...

A word, I beg you.

A word with you can mean
seven million syllables.

You might 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?

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.
- 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.

- I think I can change his mind.
- 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.

Your Highness, may I
offer my congratulations?

Well, thanks, Blackadder.

That pompous baboon won't
be back in a hurry.

On the contrary, sir. Dr Johnson
left in the highest of spirits.

He is utterly thrilled at your promise
to patronise his dictionary.

I told him to sod off,
didn't I?

Yes, sir, but that was a joke.
Surely.

Was it?

Certainly! And a
brilliant one what's more.

Yes, yes! I suppose it
was, rather, wasn't it?

So may I deliver your note of
patronage to Dr Johnson, as promised?

If that's what I promised,
then that's what I must do

and I remember
promising it distinctly.

- Excellent. Nice fire, Baldrick.
- Thank you, Mr B.

Let's get the book.
Now, Baldrick, where's the manuscript?

The big papery thing
tied up with string?

Yes, the manuscript
belonging to Dr Johnson.

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

Yes, Baldrick, Dr Johnson.

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.

Yes, Baldrick, I am,
and if you don't answer,

then the booted bony thing with
five toes on the end of my leg

will soon connect sharply

with the soft dangly collection
of objects in your trousers.

For the last time, Baldrick:
Where is Dr Johnson's manuscript?

- On the fire.
- On the what?

The hot orangy thing under
the stony mantlepiece.

- You've burnt the dictionary?
- Yup.

You've burnt the life's work of
England's foremost man of letters?

Well, you did say
"burn any old rubbish."

Yes, fine.

Isn't it going to be a
bit difficult for me

to patronise this book
if we've burnt it?

Yes, it is. If you would
excuse me a moment.

Of course.

Now that I've got my lovely fire,
I'm as happy as a Frenchman

who's invented a pair of
self-removing trousers.

Baldrick, 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.

- Me?
- Yes, you.

- Why me?
- Because you burnt it, Baldrick.

But then I'll go to Hell
forever for stealing.

Baldrick, believe me,
eternity in the company of Beelzebub

and all his hellish
instruments of death

will be a picnic compared to five
minutes with me and this pencil...

if we can't replace this dictionary.
Now come on.

O, love lorn 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.

You do have a way of words
with you, Mr Shelley.

To Hell with this fine talking.
Coffee, woman!

My consumption grows
evermore acute,

and Coleridge's drugs
are wearing off.

Oh, Mr Byron, don't be
such a big girl's blouse.

- Don't forget the pencil, Baldrick.
- Oh, I certainly won't, sir.

Ah, good day to you,
Mrs Miggins.

A cup of your best hot water
with brown grit in it,

unless by some miracle your coffee
shop has started selling coffee.

Be quiet, sir.
Can't you see we're dying?

Don't you worry about my
poets, Mr Blackadder.

They're not dead, they're
just being intellectual.

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?

We are here to pay homage
to the good Dr Johnson.

- As, sir, should you.
- Well, absolutely. I intend to.

You wouldn't happen to have
a copy of his dictionary on you,

so I can do some
revising before he gets here?

Friends, I have returned.

So, sir, how was the Prince?

The Prince was and
is an utter fool,

and his household filled
with cretinous servants.

- Good afternoon, sir.
- And you are the worst of them, sir.

After all your boasting, have you
my dictionary and my patronage?

Not quite.

The Prince begs just a few more hours
to really get to grips with it.

Bah!

However, I was wondering
if a lowly servant such as I

might be permitted
to glance at a copy.

Copy? There is no copy, sir.

- No copy?
- No, sir.

Making a copy is like
fitting wheels to a tomato,

time consuming and
completely unnecessary.

But what if the book got lost?

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!

Well, that's nice and clear.

And I, Lord Byron,
would summon up fifty of my men,

lay siege to the fellow's house
and do bloody murder on him.

And I would not rest until the
criminal was hanging by his hair,

with an Oriental disembowelling
cutlass thrust up his ignoble behind.

I hope you're listening
to all this, Baldrick.

Sir, I have been unable to
replace the dictionary.

I am therefore leaving
immediately for Nepal,

where I intend
to live as a goat.

Why?

Because if I stay here,

Dr Johnson's companions will
have me brutally murdered, sir.

Good God, Blackadder,
that's terrible!

Do you know any other butlers?

And, of course, when
the people discover

that you have burnt
Dr Johnsons'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."

Well, in that case,
something must be done!

I have a cunning plan, sir.

Hurrah!
Well, that's that, then.

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
is a virgin.

Poke my eye out and cut
off my arm if I'm wrong."

Great!

Let's hear it, then.

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.

- Which pages?
- Well, not the same ones, of course.

I think I'm on the point of spotting
the flaw in this plan, but do go on.

- Which pages are they?
- Well, this is the brilliant bit.

You write some new ones.

Some new ones? You mean
rewrite the dictionary?

I sit down tonight and rewrite

the dictionary that took
Dr Johnson ten years.

Yup.

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.

Perhaps you'd like me to
lend a hand, Blackadder.

I'm not as stupid as I look.

I am as stupid as I look, sir.

- But if I can help, I will.
- 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.

Oh, come on, Blackadder,
give us a try!

Very well, sir, as you wish.

Let's start at the
beginning, shall we?

First "A".
How would you define "A"?

Oh, I love this!
I love this, quizzes...

Hang on, it's coming.

- "A", oh, crikey, erm...
- "A"...

- Yes, I've got it!
- What?

Well, it doesn't really
mean anything, does it?

Good. So we're well on the way, then.

"A - impersonal pronoun,
doesn't really mean anything."

Right! Next - "ab"...

"ab"... Well, it's a
buzzing thing, innit?

"A... buzzing... thing."

Baldrick, I mean something
that starts with "Ab".

Honey?
Honey starts with a bee.

He's right, you
know, Blackadder.

Honey does start with a bee,
and a flower, too.

Yes, look, this really
isn't getting anywhere.

And besides, I've
left out "aardvark".

Don't say we didn't
give it a try.

No, Your Highness,
it was a brave start.

But I fear I must
proceed on my own.

Baldrick, go to the kitchen and make
me something quick and simple to eat.

Two slices of bread with
something in between.

Like Gerald, Lord Sandwich,
had the other day?

Yes, a few rounds of Geralds.

- How goes it, Blackadder?
- Not all that well, sir.

Well, let's have a look.

"Medium-sized insectivore
with protruding nasal implement."

Doesn't sound much
like a bee to me.

It's an aardvark!
It's a bloody aardvark!

Oh dear, still on "aardvark",
are we?

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.

Got a bit stuck, have you?

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.

Well, don't panic, Blackadder,
because I have some rather good news.

Oh? What?

Well, we didn't take no for an answer,
and have been working all night.

- I've done "B".
- Really? And how have you got on?

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!

You've been working on that joke
for some time, haven't you, sir?

Yes, I have.

- Since you started...
- Basically.

So, in fact, you haven't
done any work at all.

Not as such, no.

- Great. Baldrick, what have you done?
- I've done "C" and "D".

Right, let's have it, then.

"Big blue wobbly thing
that mermaids live in."

What's that?

"Sea".

Yes, tiny misunderstanding.

Still, my hopes weren't high.
Now, what about "D"?

I'm quite pleased with "dog".

Yes, and your
definition of "dog" is?

"Not a cat."

Excellent. Excellent!

- Your Highness, may I have a word?
- Certainly.

As you know, sir, it's
always been my intention

to stay with you until
you had a strapping son

and I one likewise, to take over
the burdens of my duties.

That's right, Blackadder,
and I thank you for it.

I'm afraid that there's
been a change of plan.

I am off to the kitchen to hack
my head off with a big knife.

Oh, come on, Blackadder,
it's only a book.

Let's just damn the fellow's eyes,
strip the britches from his backside

and warm his heels to
Putney Bridge! Hurrah!

Sir, you can't just lop someone's
head off and blame it on the Vikings.

- Can't I, by God!
- No.

Well, 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.

We're British, aren't we?

You're not, you're German.

Get me some coffee, Baldrick.

If I fall asleep before Monday,
we're doomed.

- Mr Blackadder, time to wake up.
- What time is it?

Monday morning.

Monday morning?! Oh my God!
I've overslept!

Where's the quill?
Where's the parchment?

I don't know. Maybe Dr Johnson's
got some with him.

- What?!
- He's outside.

- Are you ill, sir?
- 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 good dictionary.

- I don't think so.
- Oh God! We've been burgled! What?

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.

Are you sure?

I've never been more sure
of anything in my life.

I love you, Dr Johnson,
and I want to have your babies.

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.

Mr Blackadder, time to wake up.

- What time is it?
- Monday morning.

Monday morning?! Oh my God!
I've overslept!

Where's the quill?
Where's the parchment?

I don't know. Maybe Dr Johnson's
got some with him.

- What?!
- He's outside.

Now, 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.

Bring out the
dictionary at once.

Bring it out, sir, or,
in my passion,

I shall kill everyone by
giving them syphilis!

Bring it out, sir, and also any opium
plants you may have around there.

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

Good morning. Dr
Johnson, Lord Byron...

Where is my dictionary?

And what dictionary
would this be?

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...

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

Right, well, the
truth is, Doctor--

now, don't get cross,
don't overreact--

the truth is: we burnt it.

Then you die!

Good morning, everyone.

You know, this dictionary
really is a cracking good read.

- It's an absolutely splendid job!
- My dictionary!

But you said you burnt it.

I think it's a splendid book,

and I look forward to
patronising it enormously.

Thank you, sir.

I think I'm man enough to
sacrifice the pleasure of killing

to maintain
the general good humour.

There's to be no murder
today, gentlemen.

But prepare to Mrs Miggins'--

I shall join you there later for
a roister you'll never forget.

So, tell me, sir, what words
particularly interested you?

Oh, nothing. Anything,
really, you know.

I see you've underlined a few.

Bloomers, bottom, burp,
fart, fiddle, fornicate...

Sir! I hope you're
not using the first English

dictionary to
look up rude words.

I wouldn't be too hopeful, that's what
all the other ones will be used for.

- Sir, can I look up turnip?
- Turnip isn't a rude word, Baldrick.

It is if you sit on one.

We have more important
business in hand.

I refer, of course, to the works of
the mysterious Gertrude Perkins.

Mysterious no more, sir.
It is time for the truth.

I can at last reveal the identity
of the great Gertrude Perkins.

- Sir, who is she?
- She, sir, is me, sir.

- I am Gertrude Perkins.
- Good Lord!!

And I can prove it.
Bring out the manuscript,

and I will show you
that my signature

corresponds exactly
with that on the front.

I must have left it
here with the dictionary.

This is terribly exciting.

Baldrick, fetch my novel.

Novel?

Yes, the big papery thing
tied up with string.

- Like the thing we burnt?
- Exactly like the thing we burnt.

So you're asking for the big
papery thing tied up with string,

exactly like the
thing we burnt.

Exactly.

We burnt it.

So we did. Thank
you, Baldrick.

Seven years of my
life up in smoke.

- Would you excuse me a moment?
- By all means.

Oh, God, no!

Thank you, sir.

Burnt, you say? That's
most inconvenient.

A burnt novel is
like a burnt dog...

Shut up!

Sir, I have a novel.

"Once upon a time there was a lovely
little sausage called..." Sausage?!

Sausage?! Oh, blast your eyes!

I didn't think it was that bad.

I think you'll find he left "sausage"
out of his dictionary.

Oh, and "aardvark".

Come on, Blackadder,
it's not all that bad--

nothing a nice roaring
fire can't solve.

- Baldrick, do the honours, will you?
- Certainly, Your Majesty.

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