All language subtitles for Blackadder.S03E04.DVDX265Panda.en

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You look smart, Mr Blackadder.
Going somewhere nice?

- No, I'm off to the theatre.
- Don't you like it, then?

No, I don't!

A lot of stupid actors
strutting around

shouting, with their
chests thrust out so far,

you'd think their
nipples were attached

to a pair of
charging elephants!

And the worst thing about it is
having to go with Prince Mini-Brain!

- Doesn't he like it, either?
- He loves it.

The problem is that he doesn't
realise it's made up.

Last year, when Brutus
was about to kill Julius Caesar,

the Prince yelled out,
"Look behind you, Mr Caesar!"

I can't see the point
in the theatre.

All that sex and violence--
I get enough of that at home.

Except for the sex, of course.

I want you to give this
palace a good clean.

It's so dirty, it'd be
unacceptable to a dung-beetle

that had lost interest in its
career and really let itself go.

Come on, Blackadder,
or we'll miss the first act!

Coming, sir, as fast as I can!

Stick the kettle on, Baldrick.

Now, sir, give I
this advice to thee:

Never, never, never
trust thine enemy.

Agh!

Aaaaaagh!

Thy life is forfeit, sir...
Aaagh...

Thy life is forfeit, sir, and
at an end, like our poor play.

We hope it pleased you, friends.

Certainly not, you
murdering rotter!

Guards, arrest that man!

Your Highness,
it's only a play.

What about the poor
fellow who's dead?

Saying "it's only a play"
will not feed and clothe

the little ones he leaves behind.
Call the militia!

Sir, he's not dead. See, he
stands, awaiting your applause.

Oh, I say, that's very clever.
He really isn't dead.

Bravo! Bravo!

- Blast, the Prince likes it!
- Shit, we'll close tonight.

Work for the weavers!
Smash the Spinning Jenny!

Burn the Rolling Rosalind!

Destroy the Going Up and Down a Bit
and then Moving Along Gertrude!

And death to the stupid Prince
who grows fat on the profits!

I say, how exciting!

This play's getting
better and better! Bravo!

It's not a play any more, sir.

Put the bomb down and make
your way quietly to the exit.

Blackadder, you old thing,

your problem is,
you can't tell

when something's real
and when it's not.

I must say, Blackadder,
that was a close shave.

Why on earth would an anarchist
possibly want to kill "you"?

I think it might've been
you he was after, sir.

Hogwash! What on earth
makes you say that?

Well, my suspicions were first
aroused by his use of the words

"Death to the stupid Prince".

It was a bit rude, wasn't it?

These are volatile times,
Your Highness.

The American Revolution lost
your father the Colonies,

the French Revolution
murdered brave King Louis

and there are tremendous
rumblings in Prussia,

although that might be something
to do with the sausages.

The whole world cries out,

"Peace, freedom, and a few less
fat bastards eating all the pie".

Well, yes, quite, something
must be done. Any ideas?

Yes, sir. Next week is your royal
father's birthday celebrations.

I suggest that I write a brilliant
speech for you to recite,

to show the oppressed masses
how unusually sensitive you are.

Tell me about these
"oppressed masses",

what are they so
worked up about?

Because they are so poor,

they are forced
to have children

simply to provide a cheap
alternative to turkey at Christmas.

Disease and depravation
stalk our land like...

two giant stalking things.

And the working man is
poised to overthrow us.

Oh my God, and here he is!

Don't be silly, sir. That's
Baldrick, my dogsbody.

He looks like an
oppressed mass to me.

Get him out of here at once!

Shoo, Baldrick, carry
on with your cleaning elsewhere.

By the end of tonight,
I want that dining table so clean

I can eat my dinner off it.

Crikey, Blackadder,
I'm dicing with death here.

The sooner I can show how unusually
sensitive I am, the better.

Oh, I just had another
brilliant thought.

- Another one, Your Highness?
- Yes, another one, actually!

You remember that
one I had about

wearing underwear on the outside
to save on laundry bills?

I'm thinking myself,

Why don't we ask those two actors
we saw tonight

to teach me how to
recite your speech?"

- Brilliant, eh?
- No, Your Highness, feeble.

What?

I would advise against it.
It's a feeble idea.

Well, tish and pish to
your advice, Blackadder!

Get them here at once!

I'm fed up with you treating me
as if I'm some kind of thickie.

It's not me that's thick, it's you!
And you know why?

Because I'm the bloody Prince
and you're only a butler.

Now go and get those
actors here this minute,

Mr Thicky-Black-Thicky-
Adder-Thicky.

Mrs Miggins, I'm looking
for a couple of actors.

Well, you've come to
the right place, Mr B.

There's more Shakespearian dialogue
in here than there are buns.

All my lovely actors
pop in on their way to rehearsals

for a little cup of coffee
and a big dollop of inspiration.

You mean they
actually rehearse?

I thought they got drunk, stuck on
a silly hat and trusted to luck.

Oh, no!

There's ever so much hard work

that goes into the wonderful
magic that is theatre today.

Still I don't expect
you'd know much about that,

being only a little butler.

They do say, Mrs M,

that verbal insults hurt more
than physical pain.

They are of course wrong,
as you'll soon discover...

when I stick this toasting
fork in your head.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you
please welcome Mr David Keanrick.

- And the fabulous Mr Enoch Mossop.
- Hurrah! Gentlemen, gentlemen!

Settle down, settle down, settle down.
I'm sorry, no autographs.

- The usual, Mrs M.
- Coming up, my lovely.

Well, if I can just squeeze through
this admiring rabble.

Gentlemen, I've come
with a proposition.

How dare you, sir.

You think just because we're
actors we sleep with everyone.

I think, being actors, you're
lucky to sleep with anyone.

I come here on behalf
of my employer,

to ask for some
elocution lessons.

I fear, sir, that is
quite impossible.

We are in the middle of
rehearsing our new play

and we could not
possibly betray our

beloved audience by
taking time off.

Oh no, mustn't
upset the punters.

Bums on seats, laddie,
bums on seats.

And what play is this?

It is a piece we penned
ourselves, called

"The Bloody Murder
of the Foul Prince Romero

and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife".

A philosophical work, then.

Indeed yes, sir.

The violence of the murder...

and the vastness of the bosom are
entirely justified artistically.

Right, I'll tell the Prince
that you can't make it.

- Prince?
- Sorry, yes, didn't I mention that?

It's the Prince Regent.
Shame you can't make it.

No, no, no, please, no.
Please wait, sir.

Off, off!

I think we can find
some time, Mr Keanrick.

Definitely, Mr Mossop.

No, you've got your beloved
audience to think about.

- Sod the proles! We'll come.
- Yes, worthless bastards to a man.

It's nice to see artistic
integrity thriving

so strongly in the
acting community.

This afternoon at four, then,
at the Palace.

- Well, what do you think?
- Are you ill or something?

No, I'm simply trying to
look more like an actor.

I'm sure you don't need
the false moustache.

- No?
- No.

Ow!

Egads, it's that
oppressed mass again!

No, sir, that is Baldrick
spring cleaning.

Oh yes, so it is.

- Finish the job later, Baldrick.
- The cleaning or the being strangled?

Either suits me.

Look, Blackadder, this is all
getting a bit hairy, isn't it?

Are you sure we can even
trust these acting fellows?

Last time, three of them
murdered Julius Caesar,

and one of them was his
best friend Brutus.

As I've told you about
eight times,

the man playing Julius Caesar
was an actor called Kemp.

- Really?
- Yes.

Thundering gherkins!

Brutus must have been pretty
miffed when he found out.

What?

That he hadn't killed
Caesar after all,

just some poxy
actor called Kemp.

Do you think he went to Caesar's place
after the play and killed him then?

Oh, God, it's pathetic!

- Is that the door?
- Don't worry, it's just the actors.

- My uncle Baldrick
was in a play once.

- Really?
- Yeah, it was called Macbeth.

- And what did he play?
- Second codpiece.

Macbeth wore him in
the fight scenes.

So he was a stunt codpiece?

Did he have a large part?

Depends who's playing Macbeth.

Incidentally, Baldrick,
actors are very superstitious.

On no account mention the word
"Macbeth" this evening, all right?

It brings them bad luck
and it makes them very unhappy.

Oh, so you won't be
mentioning it either?

No.

Well, not very often.

You should have knocked.

Our knocks,
impertinent butler,

were loud enough to wake
the hounds of hell.

- Lead on, McDuff.
- I shall.

Lest you continue in
your quotation

and mention the name of
the Scottish play.

Never fear, I shan't do that.

By the Scottish play,
I assume you mean Macbeth.

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

- What was that?
- We were exorcising evil spirits.

Being but a mere butler,

you will not know the
great theatre tradition

that one does never speak
the name of the Scottish play.

What, Macbeth?

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

You mean you have to do that
every time I say "Macbeth"?

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

Will you please
stop saying that!

Always call it
"the Scottish play".

You want me to say
"the Scottish Play"?

Yes!

Rather than "Macbeth"?

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

Say, what is all
this hullabaloo,

all this shouting and
yelling blue murder?

It's like that play we saw the
other day, what was it called?

Macbeth, sir.

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

- No, no, it was called Julius Caesar.
- Ah yes, of course, Julius Caesar.

Not Macbeth.

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

Are you sure you want
these people to stay?

I asked them, didn't I,
Mr Thicky Butler.

Your Royal Highness, may I say

what a great honour it
is to be invited?

- Why certainly.
- Thank you.

What a great honour
that it is to be invited here

to make merry, in
the halls of our King's

loins' most
glorious outpouring.

Ugh!

Now, Your Highness,
shall we begin straight away?

- Now, I've got this...
- Before we inspect the script,

let us have a look at stance.

The ordinary fellow stands like,
well, as you do now.

Whereas your hero... stands thus.

Right, sort of like this...

Excellent, Your Highness.
Even more so...

Like that?

- What was that noise?
- It wasn't me.

We are used to standing
in this position.

It came from over here.

- Anarchist!
- Cleaner!

So you've had a wash,
that's no excuse!

- That is Baldrick spring cleaning.
- But look, he's got a bomb!

It's not a bomb, sir,
it's a sponge.

So it is.

Get it out of here at
once before it explodes.

Now, stance. I'm sorry about that.
I think we really had something there.

Yes, Your Highness.

Your very posture tells me
"Here is a man of true greatness".

Either that, or "Here are my
genitals, please kick them".

Sir, I really must ask

that this ill-educated oaf be
removed from the room.

Get out!

Your presence here is
as useful as fine bone china

at a tea-party
for drunken elephants.

Is that right?

Well, yes, get out Blackadder,
and stop corking our juices.

Certainly, Your Highness.

I'll leave you to
dribble in private.

Something wrong, Mr B?

I've had it up to
here with that Prince.

One more insult, and
I'll hand in my notice.

Does that mean I'll be butler?

Not unless some kindly surgeon

cuts your head open with a spade
and sticks a new brain in it.

I don't know why I put up
with it. I really don't.

Every year at the Guild of
Butlers' Christmas Party

I'm the one who has to wear
the red nose for winning the

"Who's got the stupidest master"
competition.

All I can say is,
he'd better watch out!

One more foot wrong and
the contract between us

will be as broken
as this milk-jug.

But that milk-jug
isn't broken.

You really do walk
into these things.

Excellent. And now, sir,
at last, the speech.

Right.

No, Your Royal Highness.

What have you forgotten?

If I stand any more
heroically than this,

I'm in danger of seriously
disappointing my future Queen.

No, Your Highness,
not the stance, the "roar".

- You want me to roar?
- Of course we wish you to roar.

All great orators roar before
commencing their speeches.

It is the way of things.

Mr Keanrick,
from your Hamlet, please.

Ooooooo, to be or not to be.

From your Julius Caesar.

Ooooooo, friends,
Romans, countrymen...

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

That's Macbeth, isn't it?

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends. Ow!

Let's all roar together, shall we?
One, two, three...

Oooooooo!

Excellent, Your Highness.

Now, shall we try putting
it all together?

Rooooaaarr!
Unaccustomed as I am...

No, no, no.

Alas, I fear you mew it
like a frightened tree.

May I see the speech?

Who wrote this drivel?

Is there a problem
with the speech?

Well, yes, there is a
problem, actually.

The problem is
that you wrote it,

Mr Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can't-Write-
For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed!

Whoops!

Shall I get their supper, sir?

Yes, preferably something
that has first passed

through the digestive
system of the cat.

And you'll have to
take it up yourself.

Why?

Because I'm leaving, Baldrick.

I'm about to enter
the job market.

Right, let's see.
Situations vacant:

Mr and Mrs Pitt are
looking for a baby-minder

to take Pitt the
Younger to Parliament.

Some fellow called George Stevenson
has invented a moving kettle,

wants someone to help
with the marketing.

Oh, there's a foreign
opportunity here.

Treacherous, malicious, unprincipled
cad, preferably non-smoker,

wanted to be King of Sardinia.
No time wasters, please.

Apply to: Napoleon Bonaparte,
PO Box 1, Paris.

Right! We're on our way!

Oh, sir, about costume...
Any thoughts?

Well, enormous trousers,
certainly,

and perhaps an
Admiral's uniform,

because we know what all the
nice girls love, don't we?

I'll tell you what, why don't
I go and try them on for you?

Help yourselves to wine.

You'll need a stiff drink when you
see the size of these damn trousers.

- Oh, my dear, what a ghastly evening!
- You're so right, love.

Look, while he's gone, why don't
we have a quick read-through of

"The Murder of Prince Romero
and His Enormous-Bosomed Wife"?

Act 1, Scene 1?

"Spring has come, with
all its gentle showers.

Methinks it's time to hack
the Prince to death."

Baldrick, I would like
to say how much I will miss

your honest and
friendly companionship.

Ah, thank you, Mr B.

But as we both know,
it'd be an utter lie.

I will therefore confine myself
to saying simply, "Sod off",

and if I ever meet you again,

it'll be twenty billion
years too soon.

Goodbye, you lazy, big-nosed,
rubber-faced bastard.

I fear, Baldrick,
that you will soon be eating

those badly chosen words.

I wouldn't bet you a
single groat

that you could survive five
minutes here without me.

Come on, Mr B,

it's not as though we're
gonna get murdered

or anything the minute
you leave, is it?

Hope springs eternal, Baldrick.

Coming!

- Let's kill the Prince.
- Who shall strike first?

Let me, and let this dagger's
point prick out his soft eyeball

and sup with glee upon
its exquisite jelly.

Have you the stomach?

I have not killed him
yet, sir, but when I do,

I shall have the stomach
and the liver, too,

and the floppily-doppilies
in their horrid glue.

What if a servant should
hear us in our plotting?

Then shall we have servant
sausages for tea.

And servant rissoles
shall our supper be.

Murder! Murder!
The Revolution's started!

- What?!
- A plot, a plot to kill you!

Ah, so you've come
clean at last, have you,

you bloody little poor person.

Not me! The actors downstairs,
they're anarchists!

I heard them plotting.

They're gonna poke out your liver,
turn me into rissole,

and then suck on your
exquisite floppily-doppilies.

- What are we going to do?
- Mr Blackadder says,

"when the going gets tough,
the tough hide under the table".

- Blackadder, of course! Where is he?
- He's in Sardinia.

- What? Why?
- You were rude to him, so he left.

Oh no! What a mad, blundering,

incredibly handsome young
nincompoop I've been.

What are we to do?

If we go downstairs, they'll
chop us up and eat us alive.

We're doomed, doomed!

Good evening, Your Highness.

Four minutes and 22
seconds, Baldrick.

You owe me a groat.

Thank God you're here!
We desperately need you!

Who, me, sir?

Mr Thicky-Black-
Thicky-Adder-Thicky?

Oh tish!

Mr Hopelessly-Drivelly-Can't-Write-
For-Toffee-Crappy-Butler-Weed?

Yes, well...

Mr Brilliantly-Undervalued-Butler
who hasn't had a raise in a fortnight?

Take an extra thousand...
...guineas per month?

All right. What's your problem?

The actors have turned out
to be vicious anarchists!

They intend to kill us all!

What, are they going
to bore us to death?

No, stab us!
Baldrick overheard them.

I did!

- Are you sure they meant it, sir?
- Quite sure.

- How far apart were their legs?
- This far.

- And their nipples?
- That far.

They meant it, all right.

All right, sir, I'll
see what I can do.

To torture him, I lust.

Let's singe his hair,
and up his nostrils...

...hot bananas thrust.

- Rehearsals going well, gentlemen?
- Begone!

A mere butler with the
intellectual capacity

of a squashed apricot
can be of no use to us.

Indeed yes, sir.

Your participation
is as irritating

as a potted cactus in
a monkey's pyjamas.

Well, in that case,
I won't interrupt you any longer.

Sorry to disturb, gentlemen.

Blackadder, thank God you're safe!
Well, what happened?

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

They're traitors, sir.

They must be arrested, brutally
tortured and executed forthwith.

Bravo!

But Your Highness,
there's been a terrible mistake.

That's what they were
bound to say, sir.

It was a play, sir, a play!

Look, all the words you heard
were written down on that page.

Text book stuff again, you see.

The criminals' vanity always makes
them make one tiny mistake.

Theirs was to have their
entire conspiracy

printed and published
in plain manuscript.

- Take them away!
- Mercy, we beg for mercy!

I have got only one thing
to say to you... Macbeth!

Hot potato, off his drawers,
pluck to make amends.

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

You can start by not
calling me "Bladder", sir.

Macbeth!

Of course, Bladder.
No sooner said than done.

- No hard feelings?
- No, sir.

It's good to be
back in the saddle.

Did I say saddle?
I meant harness.

Bravo! So we're the best of friends
as ever we were. Hurrah!

In fact, now that the evil...

Mossop and Keanrick have got
their comeuppance,

the Drury Lane Theatre is free.

I thought we might
celebrate by staging

a little play that
I've written.

Oh, what an excellent idea!

And with my new-found
acting skills,

might there be a
part in it for me?

I was hoping that you might
play the title role.

What a roaringly good idea!
What's the play called?

"Thick Jack Clot
Sits in the Stocks

and Gets Pelted with
Rancid Tomatoes"

Excellent!

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