Original subtitles

# Her face was like a winter moon

# That lights the traveller's way

# Her smile was like a summer bloom

# That bursts then fades away

# My love is night, my love is day

# My love, she is my world #

Such sweet music shows your blood to be afire.

Why wait we on stale custom for consummation?

Oh, yes! Tonight's the night.

Would you enter, bold sir?

Oh, I would.

Lilith, this cannot be the home of one so beautiful.

Forgive me, this is foul.

Shh.

Sad words suit not upon a lover's tongue.

Your kiss transformed me.

A suitor should meet his beloved's parents.

Mother Doomfinger.

And Mother Bloodtide.

Soon, at the hour of woven words,

we shall rise again and this ?eeting Earth will perish!

But how do you travel in time? What makes it go?

Oh, let's take the fun and the mystery out of everything.

Martha, you don't want to know. It just does. Hold on tight!

Blimey! Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?

Yes, and If ailed. Now, make the most of it.

I promised you one trip and one trip only.

Outside this door,

brave new world.

Where are we?

Take a look.

After you.

Oh, you're kidding me.

You're so kidding me!

Oh, my God, we did it! We travelled in time!

Where are we? No, sorry.

Got to get used to this whole new language. When are we?

- Mind out. -Garde � l'eau!

Somewhere before the invention of the toilet. Sorry about that.

I've seen worse. I worked the late-night shift, A&E.

But are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?

- Of course we can. Why do you ask? -It's like in the films.

You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race.

Tell you what, then. Don't step on any butterflies.

What have butterflies ever done to you?

What if... I don't know.

- What if I kill my grandfather? -Are you planning to?

- No. -Well, then.

- And this is London? -Think so.

Round about, um, ooh, 1599.

Oh, but hold on. Am I all right?

I'm not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?

Why would they do that?

Not exactly white, in case you haven't noticed.

I'm not even human. just walk about like you own the place. Works for me.

Besides, you'd be surprised.

Elizabethan England, not so different from your time.

Look over there. They've got recycling.

A water cooler moment.

...and the Earth will be consumed by flame!

Global warming. Oh, yes, and entertainment.

Popular entertainment for the masses.

If I'm right, we're just down the river by Southwark.

Right next to...

Oh, yes!

The Globe Theatre!

Brand-new, just opened.

Though, strictly speaking, it's not a globe.

It's a tetradecagon, 14 sides, containing the man himself.

Whoa, you don't mean...

- Is Shakespeare in there? -Oh, yes.

Miss Jones, will you accompany me to the theatre?

Mr Smith, I will!

When you get home, you can tell everyone you've seen Shakespeare.

Then I could get sectioned.

That's amazing, just amazing. It's worth putting up with the smell.

And those are men dressed as women, yeah?

London never changes.

Where's Shakespeare? I want to see Shakespeare!

Author! Author!

Do people shout that? Do they shout "Author"?

Author! Author!

Author! Author!

Well,

they do now.

- Author! -Author!

Author! Author!

Author!

Author!

He's a bit different to his portraits.

Genius. He's a genius, the genius.

The most human human there's ever been.

Now, we're gonna hear him speak.

Always, he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words.

Oh, shut your big, fat mouths!

- Oh, well. -You should never meet your heroes.

You've got excellent taste, I'll give you that.

Oh, that's a wig.

Wind the craft of ancient harm.

The time approaches for our charm.

I know what you're all saying,

"Love's Labour's Lost, that's a funny ending, isn't it?"

It just stops. Will the boys get the girls?

Well, don't get your hose in a tangle. You'll find out soon.

When?

Yeah, yeah. All in good time.

You don't rush a genius.

When?

Tomorrow night.

The premier of my brand-new play, a sequel, no less.

And I call it Love's Labour's Won.

I'm not an expert, but I've never heard of Love's Labour's Won.

Exactly. The lost play. Doesn't exist. I mean, rumours.

It's mentioned in lists of his plays, but never ever turns up,

and no one knows why.

Have you got a mini-disc or something?

We can tape it, we can ?og it. Sell it when we get home, make a mint.

No.

- That would be bad. -Yeah, yeah.

How come it disappeared in the first place?

Well...

Oh, I was just going to give you a quick little trip in the Tardis,

but I suppose we could stay a bit longer.

Here you go, Will, drink up.

There's enough beer in this lodgings house to sink the Spanish.

Dolly Bailey, you've saved my life.

I'll do more than that later tonight.

And you, girl, hurry up with the tasks.

The talk of gentlemen's best not overheard.

Yeah, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.

You must be mad, Will. Love's Labour's Won? We're not ready.

It's supposed to be next week. What made you say that?

You haven't even finished it yet.

I've just got the final scene to go. You'll get it by morning.

Hello! Excuse me. Not interrupting, am I? Mr Shakespeare, isn't it?

Oh, no, no, no. Who let you in?

No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me,

and please don't ask where I get my ideas from.

Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove...

Hey, nonny, nonny!

Sit right down here, next to me.

You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go.

Come on, lads. I think our William's found his new muse.

Sweet lady.

Such unusual clothes.

So fitted.

Erm, verily, forsooth, egads!

No, no, don't do that.

I'm Sir Doctor of Tardis, and this is my companion, Miss Martha Jones.

Interesting. That bit of paper, it's blank.

Oh, that's...

Very clever, that proves it.

- Absolute genius. -Hmm.

No, it says right there, "Sir Doctor and Martha Jones." It says so.

I say it's blank.

Psychic paper. Um... Long story. Oh, I hate starting from scratch.

Psychic? I've never heard that before, and words are my trade.

Who are you exactly? More to the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?

- What did you say? -Whoops.

Isn't that a word we use nowadays?

An Ethiop girl, a swarth, a Queen of Afric?

- I can't believe I'm hearing this. -It's political correctness gone mad.

Martha's from a far off land, Freedonia.

Excuse me. Hold hard a moment.

This is abominable behaviour.

A new play with no warning.

I demand to see a script, Mr Shakespeare.

As Master of the Revels,

every new script must be registered at my office

and examined by me before it can be performed.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, I'll send it round.

I don't work to your schedule, you work to mine.

- The script, now! -I can't.

Then tomorrow's performance is cancelled.

It's all go around here, isn't it?

I'm returning to my office for a banning order.

If it's the last thing I do,

Love's Labour's Won will never be played.

Ooh! Sorry, sir. Begging your pardon, sir.

Mind you don't hurt that handsome head of yours.

Hold hard, wanton woman!

I shall return later.

Oh, my mothers.

There's one seeks to stop the performance tomorrow.

But it must be tomorrow!

Love's Labour's Won must be performed.

Fear not.

Chant with me.

Water damps the fiercest flame.

Drowns down girls and boys the same.

Well then, mystery solved.

That's Love's Labour's Won over and done with.

I thought it might be something, you know, more mysterious.

Help me!

- It's that Lynley bloke. -What's wrong with him?

- Leave it to me, I'm a doctor. -So am I. Near enough.

Now to halt the vital part.

- Stab the flesh! -Stop the heart.

Eternal sleep is thine.

Can't get the heart going. Mr Lynley! Come on. Can you hear me?

You're gonna be all right.

What the hell is that?

I've never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water. He drowned.

I don't know, like a blow to the heart. A visible blow.

Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humours.

A natural, if unfortunate, demise. Catt the constable, have him taken away.

- Yes, sir. -I'll do it, ma'am.

Why are you telling them that?

This lot have still got one foot in the Dark Ages.

If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft.

Okay, what was it, then?

Witchcraft.

The potion is prepared.

Now, take it.

Magic words for the playwright's fevered mind.

Shakespeare will release us.

The mind of a genius will unlock the tide of blood.

Upon this night, the work is done.

A muse to pen Love's Labour's Won.

I got you a room, Sir Doctor.

You and Miss Jones are just across the landing.

Poor Lynley. So many strange events.

Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor.

Where a woman can be what she likes.

And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?

I do a lot of reading.

A trite reply, yeah? That's what I do.

And you, you look at him like you're surprised he exists.

He's as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me.

I think we should say good night.

I must to work. I have a play to complete.

I'll get my answers tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you

and why this constant performance of yours.

All the world's a stage.

Hmm. I might use that.

Good night, Doctor.

Nighty-night, Shakespeare.

It's not exactly five star, is it?

Oh, it'll do. I've seen worse.

- I haven't even got a toothbrush. -Ooh, um...

Contains Venusian spearmint.

So, who's going where? I mean, there's only one bed.

We'll manage. Come on.

So, magic and stuff. That's a surprise.

It's all a bit Harry Potter.

Wait till you read book seven. Oh, I cried!

But is it real, though? I mean, witches, black magic and all that, it's real?

- Course it isn't! -Well, how am I supposed to know?

I've only just started believing in time travel. Give me a break.

Looks like witchcraft, but it isn't.

It can't be. Are you gonna stand there all night?

Budge up a bit, then.

Sorry, there's not much room.

Us two here, same bed. Tongues will wag.

There's such a thing as psychic energy,

but a human couldn't channel it like that.

Not without a generator the size of Taunton,

and I think we'd have spotted that. No.

There's something I'm missing, Martha.

Something really close.

It's staring me right in the face, and I can't see it.

Rose would know.

A friend of mine, Rose, right now she'd say exactly the right thing.

Still, can't be helped. You're a novice, never mind.

I'll take you back home tomorrow.

Great!

Bind the mind and take the man.

Speed the words

to writer's hand.

Will, I finished cleaning, just in time for your special treat.

Oh, aye. I'm not the first, then.

I'll take that to aid my flight and you shall speak no more this night.

What?

What was that?

Her heart gave out.

She died of fright.

Doctor?

What did you see?

A witch.

Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey.

She sat out three bouts of the plague in this place. We all ran like rats.

But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit.

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

I might use that.

You can't, it's someone else's.

But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright

-and they were both connected to you. -You're accusing me?

No, but I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away,

-and you've written about witches. -I have? When was that?

Not... Not quite yet.

- Peter Streete spoke of witches. -Who's Peter Streete?

Our builder. He sketched the plans for the Globe.

The architect?

Hold on. The architect. The architect! The Globe! Come on!

Columns there, right, and 14 sides.

I've always wondered, but I've never asked.

Tell me, Will, why 14 sides?

It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that's all.

- He said it carried the sound well. -14?

Why does that ring a bell? 14?

- There's 14 lines in a sonnet. -So there is.

Good point. Words and shapes following the same design.

14 lines, 14 sides, 14 facets... My head!

Tetradecagon, think, think, think!

- Words, letters, numbers, lines! -This is just a theatre!

Oh, yeah, but a theatre's magic, isn't it?

You should know. You stand on this stage,

say the right words with the right emphasis at the right time.

Oh, you can make men weep

or cry with joy.

Change them.

You can change peoples' minds just with words in this place.

And if you exaggerate that...

It's like your police box. Small, wooden box with all that power inside.

Oh! Oh, Martha Jones, I like you. Tell you what, Peter Streete would know.

- Can I talk to him? -You won't get an answer.

A month after finishing this place, he lost his mind.

Why, what happened?

He started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling.

- His mind was addled. -Where is he now?

- Bedlam. -What's Bedlam?

- Bethlem Hospital, the madhouse. -We gotta go there, right now. Come on!

Wait, I'm coming with you. I want to witness this at first hand.

Ralph! The last scene, as promised.

Copy it, hand it around, learn it, speak it.

Back before curtain up, and remember, kid, project!

Eyes and teeth. You never know, the Queen might turn up.

As if. She never does.

So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors.

This country's ruled by a woman.

Ah, she's royal, that's God's business. Though you are a royal beauty.

Whoa, nelly! I know for a fact you've got a wife in the country.

But, Martha, this is town.

Come on, we can all have a good flirt later!

Is that a promise, Doctor?

Oh, 57 academics just punched the air. Now, move!

Love's Labour's Won.

I don't think much of sequels, they're never as good as the original.

Have you seen this last bit?

Must have been dozing off when he wrote that. I don't even know what it means.

Well, that goes for most of his stuff. Ah, but at least it's my speech.

I get centre stage.

"The light of Shadmoch's hollow moon

"doth shine on to a point in space,

"betwixt Dravidian shore..."

What was that?

"...Dravidian shores, linear 5-9-3-0-1-6..."

A spirit stirs the ether.

But too soon, too soon!

Not to fear, my mothers.

'Tis merely a rehearsal of what's to come.

"...and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel 4."

By all the saints.

It's a spirit.

It's a vile shade.

I think we should never speak of this again.

Else we'll end up in Bedlam ourselves.

Please, please!

Does my lord Doctor wish some entertainment while he waits?

I can whip these madmen. They'll put on a good show for you.

- Bandog and Bedlam. -No, I don't.

Well, wait here, my lords, while I, uh...

Make him decent for the lady.

So this is what you call a hospital, yeah?

Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry?

- And you put your friend in here? -Oh, it's all so different in Freedonia.

But you're clever! Do you honestly think this place is any good?

I've been mad, I've lost my mind.

Fear of this place set me right again. Serves its purpose.

- Mad in what way? -You lost your son.

My only boy. The Black Death took him.

I wasn't even there.

- I didn't know, I'm sorry. -Made me question everything.

The futility of this fleeting existence, to be or not to be.

Oh, that's quite good.

- You should write that down. -Hmm, maybe not. A bit pretentious?

This way, my lord.

They can be dangerous, my lord. Don't know their own strength.

I think it helps if you don't whip them. Now, get out!

Peter.

Peter Streete.

He's the same as he was. You'll get nothing out of him.

Peter.

What is this?

I must see!

That stranger...

He was at the inn with Shakespeare.

I thought then he smelt of something new.

Now he visits the madhouse.

The architect!

Peter, I'm the Doctor.

Go into the past.

One year ago.

Let your mind go back.

Back to when everything was fine and shiny.

Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else.

It's just a story.

A winter's tale.

Let go.

That's it. That's it.

Just let go.

Tell me the story, Peter.

Tell me about the witches.

Who is this Doctor? Why does he come now at our time of glory?

Doomfinger, transport yourself.

Doom the Doctor.

Doom his hide.

Witches spoke to Peter.

In the night, they whispered, they whispered...

Got Peter to build the Globe to their design, their design!

The 14 walls.

Always 14.

When the work was done...

They snapped poor Peter's wits.

Well, where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city?

Peter, tell me!

You've got to tell me. Where were they?

All Hallows Street.

Too many words!

- What the hell? -just one touch

of the heart.

No!

A witch! I'm seeing a witch!

Now, who would be next, hmm?

Just one touch.

Oh, I'll stop your frantic hearts.

Poor, fragile mortals.

Let us out! Let us out!

That's not going to work. The whole building's shouting that.

And who would die first, hmm?

Well, if you're looking for volunteers...

- No, don't! -Doctor, can you stop her?

No mortal has power over me!

No, but there's a power in words.

If I can find the right one, if I can just know you...

None on Earth has knowledge of us.

Well, it's a good thing I'm here. Now, think, think, think.

Humanoid, female, who uses shapes and words to channel energy...

Ah, 14!

That's it, 14!

The 14 stars of the Rexel planetary configuration!

Creature, I name you

Carrionite!

- What did you do? -I named her.

The power of a name. That's old magic.

But there's no such thing as magic.

Well, it's just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics.

Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom.

The Carrionites use words instead.

Use them for what?

The end of the world.

He knows us!

He spoke our name!

Then he will know death. He will perish at my hand.

My mothers, the time approaches.

You must away to the Globe. Go, I will join you.

As soon as this Doctor screams his last.

The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe.

Nobody was sure if they were real or legend.

- Well, I'm going for real. -But what do they want?

A new empire on Earth.

A world of bones and blood and witchcraft.

But how?

I'm looking at the man with the words.

Me? But I've done nothing.

Hold on, though. What were you doing last night

when that Carrionite was in the room?

Finishing the play.

What happens on the last page?

The boys get the girls, they have a bit of a dance.

It's all as funny and thought-provoking as usual.

Except those last few lines.

Funny thing is, I don't actually remember writing them.

That's it!

They used you. They gave you the final words.

Like a spell, like a code. Love's Labour's Won, it's a wea pon!

The right combination of words spoken in the right place

with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter!

The play is the thing!

And yes, you can have that.

We left the lovers of Navarre, by cruel chance separated,

none to claim his heart, their labours lost.

Now will they find love's la hour's won?

All Hallows Street, there it is. Martha, we'll track them down.

Will, you get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play!

I'll do it. All these years, I've been the cleverest man around.

Next to you, I know nothing.

- Well, don't complain. -I'm not! It's marvellous.

- Good luck, Doctor. -Good luck, Shakespeare.

- Once more unto the breach! -I like that!

Wait a minute, that's one of mine.

Oh, just shift!

The eye should have contentment where it rests...

Patience, my sisters. Patience.

-...mewling poor, drooped men... -Stop the play!

I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but stop.

This performance must end immediately.

Oh, everyone's a critic.

- The wordsmith! -Fear not.

I have the doll.

I'm sorry. You'll get a refund.

But this play must not be performed.

- Is he drunk, or what? -Get him out of the way!

You must forgive our irksome Will.

He's been on the beer,

and feeling ill.

There is naught can stop us now.

All Hallows Street.

Which house?

Thing is, though, am I missing something here?

The world didn't end in 1599, it just didn't. Look at me, I'm living proof.

Oh, how to explain the mechanics of the infinite temporal ?ux?

I know, Back to the Future! It's like Back to the Future.

- The film? -No, the novelisation. Yes, the film!

Marty McFly goes back and changes history.

And he starts fading away... Oh, my God, am I going to fade?

You and the entire future of the human race.

It ends right now, in 1599, if we don't stop it.

But which house?

Make that witch house.

I take it we're expected?

Oh, I think death has been waiting for you a very long time.

Right then, it's my turn.

I know how to do this.

I name thee

Carrionite!

What did I do wrong? Was it the finger?

Power of a name works only once. Observe.

I gaze upon this bag of bones,

and now I name thee, Martha Jones.

What have you done?

Only sleeping, alas.

It's curious, her name has less impact.

She's somehow out of her time.

And as for you, Sir Doctor.

Fascinating.

There is no name.

Why would a man hide his title in such despair?

Oh, but look.

There's still one word with a power that aches.

- The naming won't work on me. -But your heart grows cold.

The north wind blows and carries down the distant...

Rose.

Oh, big mistake. 'Cause that name keeps me fighting.

The Carrionites vanished. Where did you go?

The Eternals found the right word to banish us into deep darkness.

- Then how did you escape? -New words.

New and glittering.

From a mind like no other.

Shakespeare.

His son perished.

The grief of a genius.

Grief without measure.

Madness enough to allow us entrance.

- How many of you? -just the three.

But the play tonight shall restore the rest.

Then the human race will be purged as pestilence.

And from this world we will lead the universe back

into the old ways of blood and magic.

Mmm, busy schedule.

But first,

you've got to get past me.

Oh, that should be a pleasure.

Considering my enemy has such a handsome shape.

Now, that's one form of magic that's definitely not gonna work on me.

Oh, we'll see.

- What was that for? What did you do? -Souvenir.

Well, give it back!

Well, that's just cheating.

Behold, Doctor. Men to Carrionites are nothing but puppets.

Now, you might call that magic, I'd call that a DNA replication module.

What use is your science now?

Oh, my God, Doctor!

Don't worry, I've got you.

Hold on, mister. Two hearts?

I'm making a habit of it.

I've only got one heart working!

How do you people Cope?

I've got to get the other one started. Hit me! Hit me on the chest!

Other side!

Now, on the back, on the back!

Left a bit!

Lovely. There we go. By-da-boom-ba!

Well, what are you standing there for? Come on, the Globe!

- The Doctor? -Dead.

The ladies have prepared a show.

Maria means to present Isis to send him from the dewy orb of heaven.

Ah! Here comes Costard.

Masters.

- We're going the wrong way! -No, we're not!

We're going the wrong way!

Behold the swinish sight of woman's love.

Pish! It's out of season to be heavy disposed.

It is now, my mothers.

The final words to activate the tetradecagon.

Betwixt Dravidian shores

and linear 5-9-3-0-1-6-7 point 0-2,

and strikes the fulsome grove of Rexel 4.

Co-radiating crystal, activate!

The portal opens!

It begins!

I told thee so! I told thee!

Stage door!

Stop the play! I think that was it. Yeah, I said stop the play!

- I hit my head. -Yeah, don't rub it, you'll go bald.

I think that's my cue.

Now begins the millennium of blood!

The Doctor! He lives.

Then watch this world become a blasted heath.

They come, they come!

- Come on, Will, history needs you. -But what can I do?

- Reverse it! -How am I supposed to do that?

The shape of the Globe gives words power, but you're the wordsmith.

The one true genius, the only man clever enough to do it.

But what words? I have none ready.

You're William Shakespeare!

But these Carrionite phrases, they need such precision.

Trust yourself. When you're locked away in your room,

the words just come, don't they? Like magic.

Words of the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm,

words that last forever!

That's what you do, Will. You choose perfect words.

Do it! Improvise!

Close up this din of hateful, dire decay,

decomposition of your witches' plot!

You thieve my brains, consider me your toy,

my doting Doctor tells me I am not!

No!

Words of power!

Foul Carrionite spectres,

cease your show, between the points...

7-6-1-3-9-0!

7-6-1-3-9-0!

Banished like a tinker's cuss, I say to thee...

Uh...

Expelliarmus!

- Expelliarmus! -Expelliarmus!

Good old JK!

The deep darkness!

They are consumed!

Love? Labour's Won, there it goes.

They think it was all special effects?

Your effect is special, indeed.

It's not your best line.

And I say,

a heart for a hart, a dear for a deer.

- I don't get it. -Then give me a joke from Freedonia.

Okay, Shakespeare walks into a pub, and the landlord says,

"Oi, mate, you're Bard."

That's brilliant!

Doesn't make sense, mind you, but never mind that. Come here.

I've only just met you.

The Doctor may never kiss you. Why not entertain a man who will?

I don't know how to tell you this, O Great Genius,

but your breath doesn't half stink.

Good prop store back there!

I'm not sure about this, though.

Reminds me of a Sycorax.

Sycorax. Nice word. I'll have that off you as well.

- I should be on 10%. How's your head? -Still aching.

Here, I got you this.

Neck brace.

Wear that for a few days until it's better.

Although you might want to keep it, it suits you.

- What about the play? -Gone. I looked all over.

Every single copy of Love's Labour's Won went up in the sky.

- My lost masterpiece. -You could write it up again.

Yeah, better not, Will.

There's still power in those words. Maybe it should best stay forgotten.

Oh, but I've got new ideas.

Perhaps it's time I wrote about fathers and sons,

in memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet.

- Hamnet? -That's him.

- Ham-net? -What's wrong with that?

Anyway, time we were off.

I've got a nice attic in the Tardis

where this lot can scream for all eternity.

And I've got to take Martha back to Freedonia.

You mean travel on through time and space?

You what?

You're from another world, like the Carrionites.

And Martha here's from the future. It's not hard to work out.

That's incredible. You are incredible.

We're alike in many ways, Doctor.

Martha, let me say goodbye to you with a new verse.

A sonnet for my dark lady.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely, more temperate...

- Will! -Will!

Will, you'll never believe it. She's here!

- She's turned up! -We're the talk of the town.

She heard about last night. She wants us to perform it again.

- Who? -Her Majesty. She's here!

Queen Elizabeth I!

- Doctor! -What?

- My sworn enemy. -What?

Off with his head!

- What? -Well, never mind what, just run!

- See you, Will. And thanks! -Stop him!

Stop that pernicious Doctor!

Stop! In the name of the Queen!

What have you done to upset her?

How should I know? I haven't met her yet! That's time travel for you.

Still, I can't wait to find out.

That's something to look forward to.

Ooh!

And we're slap-bang in the middle of New New York.

I am the last of my kind.

Help us!

You've got to let her go!

Martha!

I need to talk to the police.

- Do you want some happy? -Buy some anger!

How much do you want forgetting?

Pretty well dressed for a hitchhiker.

They say people go missing on the motorway.

Some cars just vanish, never to be seen again.

Is there something living down there?

What the hell are they?