All language subtitles for Blackadder.S03E01.DVDX265Panda.en

Tweaks by XhmikosR
www.addic7ed.com

Well, Mrs Miggins, at last
we can return to sanity.

The hustings are over,
the bunting is down,

the mad hysteria is at an end.

After the chaos of a general election,
we can return to normal.

Has there been a general
election, Mr Blackadder?

- Indeed there has, Mrs Miggins.
- Well, I never heard about it.

Of course not;
you're not eligible to vote.

Why not?

Because virtually no one is:
women, peasants,

chimpanzees, lunatics, Lords...

That's not true, Lord Nelson's
got a vote.

He's got a boat, Baldrick.

Marvellous thing, democracy.
Look at Manchester:

population, sixty thousand;
electoral roll, three.

Well, I may have a
brain the size of a sultana,

- Correct.
- ...but it hardly seems fair to me.

Of course it's not fair and
a damn good thing too.

Give the like of
Baldrick the vote

and we'll be back to
cavorting druids,

death by stoning, and
dung for dinner.

I'm having dung for
dinner tonight.

Who are they electing
at these elections?

The same old shower.

Fat Tory landowners
who get made MPs

when they reach a
certain weight,

raving revolutionaries who think
that because they do a day's work

they have the right
to get paid.

Basically, it's a right old mess.
Toffs at the top, plebs at the bottom,

and me in the middle making a fat
pile of cash out of both of them.

You'd better watch out, Mr Blackadder,
things are bound to change.

Not while Pitt the
Elder's Prime Minister.

He's about as effective as a catflap
in an elephant house.

As long as his feet are warm

and he gets a nice cup of tea in
the sun before his morning nap,

he doesn't bother anyone
until his potty needs emptying.

Honourable members
of the House of Commons,

I call upon the new Prime Minister
of Great Britain and her empires:

Mr William Pitt, the Younger.

Mr Speaker, members of the House,
I shall be brief,

as I have rather unfortunately
become Prime Minister

right in the middle of my exams.

I look forward to
fulfilling my duty

in a manner of which
Nanny would be proud.

I shall introduce legislation

to utterly destroy three enemies
of the State.

The first is that evil dictator,
Napoleon Bonaparte.

Here, here!

The second is my old geography master,
banana-breath Scrigshanks.

But most of all, sirs,

I intend to pursue that utter
slob, the Prince of Wales.

Here, here!

Why, this year alone,

he has spent 15,000
pounds on banqueting...

Boo! Boo! Boo!

...20,000 pounds on perfume...

Boo!

...and, most
astonishingly of all,

an astonishing 59,000
pounds on socks!

Therefore, my three main
policy priorities are:

One, war with France;

two, tougher sentences
for geography teachers;

and three, a right royal kick
up the Prince's backside!

Hurray!

I now put upon the
leader of the Opposition

to test me on my Latin vocab.

Sir, if I may make so bold,

a major crisis has
arisen in your affairs.

Yes, I know, I've been
pondering it all morning.

You have, sir?

Yes -- socks! Run out again!

Why is it that no matter how many
millions of pairs of socks I buy,

I never seem to have any?

Sir, with your forgiveness,

there is another even
weightier problem.

They just disappear!

You'd think someone was
coming in here,

stealing the damn things and
then selling them off.

Impossible, sir. Only you and
I have access to your socks.

Yes, yes, you're right.

For me, socks are like sex:

tons of it about,
but I never seem to get any.

If I may return to this
very urgent matter.

I read fearful news in
this morning's paper.

Oh, no. Not another little
cat caught up in a tree.

No, sir. There's a
vote afoot in the new Parliament

to strike you
from the Civil List.

Oh, yes, but what are they
going to do about my socks!

If this bill goes through,
you won't have any socks...

...or trousers, shirts,
waistcoats, or pantaloons.

They're going to bankrupt you.

They can't do that--
the public love me!

Only the other day, I was out
in the street and they sang,

"We hail Prince George!"
"We hail Prince George!"

"We hate Prince George."
"We hate Prince George."

Was it?

I fear so, sir.
However, all is not lost.

Fortunately, the numbers in the
Commons are exactly equal.

If we can get one more MP to
support us, then you're safe.

Hurrah! Any ideas?

Well, yes, sir. There is one man
who might be the ace up our sleeve.

A rather crusty, loud-mouthed ace
named Sir Talbot Buxomly.

Never heard of him.

That's hardly surprising, sir.

Sir Talbot has the worst
attendance record of any MP.

On the one occasion he did
enter the House of Commons,

he passed water
in the Great Hall,

and then passed out in
the Speaker's Chair.

If we can get him to support us,
then we are safe.

According to "Who's Who",

his interests include flogging
servants, shooting poor people,

and the extension of slavery to anyone
who hasn't got a knighthood.

Excellent! Sensible policies
for a happier Britain!

However, if we are to
get him to support us,

he will need some
sort of incentive.

Anything in mind?

You could appoint him
a High Court judge.

Is he qualified?

He's a violent, bigoted,
mindless old fool.

Sounds a bit overqualified...
Well, get him here at once!

Certainly, sir.

I will return before you can say
"antidisestablishmentarianism".

Well, I wouldn't be
too sure about that!

Antidistibblincemin...

Antimistilinstid...

Antidistinctly-minty-monetarism...

Your Highness,
Sir Talbot Buxomly, MP.

Ah, Buxomly! Roaringly
splendid to have you here.

- How are you, sir?
- Heartily well, Your Highness.

I dined hugely off a servant
before coming to town.

- You eat your servants?
- No, sir, I eat off them.

Why should I spend
good money on tables

when I have men standing idle?

Why, indeed! Now, I dare say
you've heard of Mr Pitt's intentions.

Young scallywag!

So you don't approve of
his plans to abolish me.

I do not, sir.

Damn his eyes! Damn his britches!
Damn his duck pond!

Hurrah for that!

I care not a jot
that you are the son

of a certified
sauerkraut-sucking loon!

Thanks you, sir.

It minds not me that you
dress like a mad parrot

and talk like a plate
of beans negotiating

their way out of a cow's
digestive system.

It is no skin off my rosy nose

that there are bits of lemon
peel floating down the Thames

that would make
better Regents than you.

The fact is, you are Regent,
appointed by God,

and I shall stick by you forever,
though infirmity lay me waste

and ill health
curse my every waking moment.

Well, good on you, sir.
And don't talk to me about infirmity.

Why, sir, you are the
hardy stock that is...

the core of
Britain's greatness.

You have the physique
of a demigod.

Purple of cheek, and
plump of fetlock,

the shapely ankle and the
well-filled trouser

that tells of a human body in
perfect working order.

He's dead, sir.

Dead?

Yes, Your Highness.

What bad luck,
we were rather getting on.

- We must move at once.
- In which direction?

Sir Talbot represented the
constituency of Dunny-on-the-Wold,

and, by an extraordinary stroke
of luck, it is a rotten borough.

Really? Is it?

Well, lucky, lucky us.

Lucky, lucky, luck. Luck-luck...
Lark! Lark!

Lark! Lark! Lark! Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!
Lark! Lark! Lark!

You don't know what a rotten
borough is, do you, sir?

No.

So what was the chicken
impression in aid of?

I just didn't want to
hurt your feelings.

So, what is a robber button?

- Rotten borough.
- That's right.

A rotten borough, sir,
is a constituency

where the owner of the land

corruptly controls both
the voters and the MP.

Good, yes, and a
robber button is?

Could we leave
that for a moment?

Dunny-on-the-Wold
is a tuppenny-ha'penny place.

Half an acre of sodden
marshland in the Suffolk Fens

with an empty town hall on it.

Population: three
rather mangy cows,

a dachshund named Colin,

and a small hen in
its late forties.

So, no people at all, then?
Apart from Colin.

- Colin is a dog, sir.
- Yes, yes, yes.

Only one actual person lives
there, and he is the voter.

So, what's the plan?

We must buy
Dunny-on-the-Wold at once,

and thus control the voter.
I shall need a thousand pounds.

A thousand pounds?

I thought you said it was a
"tuppenny-ha'penny" place.

Yes, sir, the land will
cost tuppence ha'penny,

but there are other
factors to be considered:

Stamp duty, window tax,

swamp insurance, hen food,
dog biscuits,

cow ointment - the
expenses are endless.

- Fine, the money's in my desk.
- No, sir, it's in my wallet.

Oh, splendid!
No time to lose, eh?

My thoughts precisely, sir.

The only question is
who to choose as MP.

- Tricky.
- What we need is an utter unknown,

yet someone over whom
we have complete power.

A man with no mind,
with no ideas of his own.

One might almost say
a man with no brain.

- Any thoughts?
- Yes, Your Highness.

You rang, My Lord?

Meet the new MP for
Dunny-on-the-Wold.

But he's an absolute arsehead!

Precisely, sir. Our
slogan shall be:

"A rotten candidate for
a rotten borough."

Baldrick, I want you to go back
to your kitchen sink, you see...

and prepare for government.

Right. Now all we have to do is
fill in this MP application form.

Name: Baldrick.

- First name?
- I'm not sure.

- You must have some idea...
- Well, it might be "Sod off".

What?

When I used to play
in the gutter,

I used to say to the other snipes,
"Hello, my name's Baldrick,"

and they'd say,
"Yes, we know. Sod off, Baldrick."

All right...
"Mr S. Baldrick".

Now, distinguishing features?
None.

I've got this growth in
the middle of my face.

That's your nose, Baldrick.

Now, any history of insanity
in the family?

Tell you what, I'll
cross out the "in".

Any history of sanity
in the family?

"None whatsoever."

- Now, then, criminal record...
- Absolutely not.

Come on, Baldrick, you're going
to be an MP, for God's sake!

I'll just put
"fraud and sexual deviancy".

Now, minimum bribe level...

One turnip.

Hang on, I don't want to price
myself out of the market.

Baldrick, I was been
meaning to ask,

do you have any
ambitions in life

apart from the acquisition
of turnips?

No.

What would you do
if I gave you a thousand pounds?

I'd get a little
turnip of my own.

What would you do
if I gave you a million pounds?

That's different. I'd get a great
big turnip in the country.

Oh God, I'll get that. Sign here.

Your Highness,
Pitt the Younger.

Why, hello there,
young Sabre, m'lad!

I say, here's fun.

I've a shiny sixpence
here for the clever fellow

who can tell me
which hand it's in.

Oh, school, school!
On half hols, is it?

I bet you can't wait to get back
and get that bat in your hand,

and give those balls
a good walloping.

Mr Pitt
is the Prime Minister, sir.

Oh, go on! Is he?
What, young Snotty here?

I'd rather have a runny
nose than a runny brain.

Eh?

Excuse me, Prime Minister, but we do
have some lovely jelly in the pantry.

I don't know if you'd
be interested.

Don't patronise me,
you lower middle class yobbo!

What flavour is it?

- Blackcurrant.
- Eeeuughhh!

I say, Blackadder, are
you sure this is the PM?

Seems like a bit of
an oily tick to me.

We used to line up four
or five of his sort,

make them bend over,
and use them as a toast-rack.

It doesn't surprise me, sir.
I know your sort.

Once, it was I who stood
in the cold schoolroom,

a hot crumpet burning
my cheeks with shame.

Since that day, I have been
busy every hour God sends,

working to become
Prime Minister

and fight sloth and privilege
wherever I found it.

I trust you weren't too busy
to remove the crumpet.

You will regret this, gentlemen.

You think you can thwart my
plans to bankrupt the Prince

by fixing the Dunny-on-the-Wold
by-election,

but you will be thrashed!

I intend to put up my own brother
as a candidate against you.

And which Pitt would this be?
Pitt the Toddler?

Pitt the Embryo?

Pitt the Glint in
the Milkman's Eye?

Ha!

Sirs, as I said to
Chancellor Metternich

at the Congress of Strasbourg:

"Pooh to you with knobs on!"
We shall meet, sirs, on the hustings.

I say, Blackadder,
what a ghastly squit!

- He's not going to win, is he?
- No, sir.

Because, firstly, we shall fight this
campaign on issues, not personalities.

Secondly, we shall be
the only fresh thing on the menu.

And thirdly, of course,
we'll cheat.

Good evening and welcome to the
Dunny-on-the-Wold by-election.

The first thing I must tell you is
that the turnout has been very good.

As a matter of fact, the voter
turned out before breakfast.

And I can bring you the
result of our exclusive Exit Poll

which produced a 100%
result for...

..."mind your own business,
you nosy bastard."

Mr Hanna,

are you going to talk to any
of the candidates?

I certainly am,
and I can see Prince George,

who is leader
of the Adder Party.

Prince George, who was described
in his party news sheet as a

"great moral and spiritual
leader of the nation,"

but described by almost everyone
else as a "fat, flatulent git".

- Prince George, hello.
- Good evening.

And good evening, Colin.

How do you see your prospects
in this campaign?

Well, first, I'd like a
word about the disgraceful

circumstances in which
this election arose.

We paid for this seat,
and I think it's a damn

liberty that we should have
to stand for it as well.

And another thing...
Why is it,

that no matter how
many pairs of socks you buy,

you never seem to have enough?

Fighting words from
the Prince Regent.

And now let's have a word from
the Adder Party candidate,

Mr S. Baldrick,

who so far has not commented on
his policies in this campaign,

but with him is his election
agent, Mr E. Blackadder.

Well, we in the Adder
Party are going to fight

this campaign on issues,
not personalities.

Why is that?

Because our candidate doesn't
have a personality.

He doesn't say much
about the issues, either.

No, he's got something
wrong with his throat.

Perhaps he could
answer one question.

What does the "S" in
his name stand for?

"Sod off".

Fair enough, none of
my business, really.

And now it's time, I
think, for a result,

and tension is running
very high here.

Mr Blackadder assures me
that this will be the first

honest vote ever
in a rotten borough.

And I think we all hope
for a result which reflects

the real needs
of the constituency.

And behind me I can
just see the Returning Officer

moving to the
front of the platform.

As the Acting Returning Officer
for Dunny-on-the-Wold...

The Acting Returning Officer,
Mr E. Blackadder, of course.

And we're all very grateful that
he stepped in at the last minute,

when the previous
Returning Officer

accidently stabbed himself in the
stomach while shaving.

I now announce the number
of votes cast as follows:

Brigadier General
Horace Bolsom...

Keep-Royalty-White-Rat-
Catching-And-Safe-Sewage-Residents Party...

No votes.

Ivor "Jest ye not madam"
Biggun...

Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-
Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party...

No votes.

- Pitt, the Even Younger...
- Whig...

- No votes.
- Oh, there's a shock.

- Mr S. Baldrick...
- Adder Party...

16,472.

And there you have it:
victory for the Adder Party,

a sensational swing
against the Whigs.

I'll just try to get a final
word with some of the candidates

as they
come up from the stage.

Master William Pitt the Even Younger,
are you disappointed?

Yes! I'm horrified!

I smeared my opponent,
bribed the press to be on my side,

and threatened to torture
the electorate if we lost.

I fail to see what more a decent
politician could have done.

Ivor Biggun,
no votes at all for the

Standing-At-The-Back-Dressed-
Stupidly-And-Looking-Stupid Party.

- Are you disappointed?
- No, not really, no...

I always say, "If you can't
laugh, what can you do?"

Take up politics, perhaps.
Has your party got any policies?

Oh yes, certainly!

We're for the compulsory serving
of asparagus at breakfast,

free corsets for the under-5's,
and the abolition of slavery.

Many moderate people would
respect your stand on asparagus,

but what about this extremist
nonsense about abolishing slavery?

Oh, we just put that in for a joke!
See you next year!

And now, finally,

a word with the man who is at the
centre of this by-election mystery:

the voter himself.
And his name is Mr E. Bla...

Mr Blackadder, you are the only
voter in this rotten borough.

Yes, that's right.

How long have you lived
in this constituency?

Since Wednesday morning.

I took over from the previous
electorate when he, very sadly,

accidently brutally cut his head
off while combing his hair.

One voter, 16,472 votes...

- A slight anomaly?
- Not really, Mr Hanna.

You see, Baldrick may
look like a monkey

who's been put in a suit and
then strategically shaved,

but he is a brilliant
politician.

The number of votes I cast
is simply a reflection

of how firmly I believe
in his policies.

Well, that's excellent.
That's all for me--

another great day for
democracy in our country.

Vincent Hanna, Country Gentleman's Pig
Fertilizer Gazette, Dunny-on-the-Wold.

We are reprieved. It is a triumph
for stupidity over common sense.

Thank you very much.

As a reward, Baldrick,
take a short holiday.

Did you enjoy it? Right.

Will the honourable Members please
cast their votes, "aye" or "nay",

for the striking of the Prince
Regent off the Civil List.

Excuse me...

Excuse me...

Excuse me!

Hello, little chappie.
Are you a new bug?

Yeah, I don't
know anyone here.

I support the Prince and I
don't know how to vote.

We can soon change all of that,
can't we? Come along with me.

Oh, thanks.

Well, well, well,
if it isn't the Lord Privy Toast-Rack.

Pull up a muffin, sit yourself down.

You don't like me,
do you, Mr Blackadder?

Well, nobody likes a loser.

- Then that's why nobody likes you.
- What?

You lost the vote. Your monkey
obligingly voted for us.

Oh God, no.

If you want something done properly,
kill Baldrick before you start.

You're beaten, Oik!

And you and your disgusting master
have twenty-four hours to get out.

Twenty-four hours is a long
time in politics. Good day.

There is just one
thing before I go.

I've got this sort of downy hair
developing on my chest,

is that normal?

Also, I get so
lonely and confused.

I've written a poem about it,
maybe you'll understand.

- "Why do nice girls hate me? Why..."
- Get out, you nauseating adolescent!

Piss off!

How could I have been so stupid?
Goodbye, Millionaire's Row.

Hello, Room 12 of the
Budley Salterton Twilight

Rest Home for the
Terminally Short of Cash!

And to think you once dreamed
you'd end up in the House of Lords.

- What?
- The House of Lords.

I'd forgotten about
the House of Lords!

The Lords will never
let the bill through.

Every man-jack of them
will be behind the Prince.

- Right, take Baldrick off the spit.
- Hurrah...

I've got a plan so cunning you could
put a tail on it and call it a weasel.

DA-daa!

Oi, tally-ho, Blackadder!

You look as happy as
a man who thought

a cat had done its
business on his pie,

but it turned out to be
an extra big blackberry.

- Did our plan go well?
- Excellently, sir.

Order a thousand pairs
of finest cotton socks.

Take out the drawings
for that beach hut at Brighton.

- Hurrah!
- There was, however, one slight...

...hiccup.

Cough I think you mean.

No, sir, hiccup.

The motion about your
impoverishment has now moved on

to the House of Lords.

Bravo! Well, no
worry there, then.

Every man-jack of them
will be behind me.

Ah, would that were so, Your Highness.
These are treacherous times.

- Are they?
- Yes.

It might be wise to
appoint a new Lord,

to make sure the old Lords
vote the right way.

Good thought. New Lord...

Any idea who?

Well, sir, one name
does leap to mind.

- Does it?
- Yes, sir.

You couldn't make it leap
any higher, could you?

A young man in your service, sir,
who has done sterling work

matching the political
machinations of the evil Pitt.

Ah, of course! Blackadder, oh,
how can I ever thank you enough?

It might also be worth
bribing a few Lords,

just to make sure they vote the
way their consciences tell them.

- How many should we bribe?
- Oh, I think 300,000, to be sure,

at a thousand pounds each.

- 300,000 pounds?
- 400,000, I think you'll find, sir.

Yes, you're right. Well, thank God
I've got you to advise me, Bladder.

Just remind me, what do I have to do
to appoint this Lord chappie?

Oh, it's very simple, sir. You put on
your robes of State, he puts on his,

then you sign the Document
of Ennoblement

and dispatch him at once
to the House of Lords.

Excellent! I shall
change immediately.

And so, sir, shall I.

Voila, Mrs Miggins. My robes of State.
A thousand pounds well spent, I think.

Oh, very nice!

Oh, it's real cat, isn't it?

This is not cat, Mrs Miggins.
This is finest, leather-trimmed ermine

with gold medallion accessories.

Oh, go on, Mr Blackadder,
it's cat.

Oh, look, they've left
the little collars on.

"Mr Frisky."

"If found, please return to Emma
Hamilton, Marine Parade, Portsmouth."

Oh, God! Ah, well, who cares about
a dead cat now that I'm a fat cat.

You're full of
yourself today, Mr B!

Which is more than can
be said for Mr Frisky.

My Lord.

- My Lords.
- I'm sorry, sir?

My Lords. There is more than
one Lord in the vicinity.

Well, yes...

Will you please welcome His Grace,
The Lord Baldrick!

You made Baldrick a Lord?

Well, yes.

"One who has recently
done sterling work,

matching the political
machinations of the evil Pitt."

Good old Lord Baldrick.

It's alright, Blackadder, you don't
have to curtsey or anything.

Might I let loose a
short, violent exclamation?

- Certainly.
- Damn! Thank you, sir.

I say, that's a bit
of a strange get-up

you've got there,
isn't it, Blackadder?

Yes, I'm just off to
a fancy dress party.

I'm going as
Lady Hamilton's pussy.

There's just one
question, sir,

about the four hundred thousand
to influence the Lords.

Ah, yes, I gave that
to Lord Baldrick.

Sir, might I be permitted
to take Lord Baldrick downstairs

to give him some instruction
in his lordly duties?

I think that's a splendid idea.

This way, My Lord.

Give me the bloody money, Baldrick,
or you're dead!

"Give me the bloody money, Baldrick,
or you're dead, My Lord!"

Just do it, Baldrick! Otherwise,
I shall further ennoble you

by knighting you rather clumsily
with this meat cleaver.

- I haven't got it.
- What?

- I spent it.
- You spent it?

What could you
possibly spend 400,000 pounds on?

Oh, no...

Oh, God, don't tell me.

My dream turnip.

Baldrick, how did
you manage to find a turnip

that cost 400,000 pounds?

Well, I had to haggle.

This is the worst moment
of my entire life.

I spent my last penny on
a catskin windcheater,

and I've just broken
a priceless turnip.

And now I'm about to be
viciously slaughtered

by a naked Tunisian
sock merchant.

And all I can say,
Baldrick, is this:

It's the last time
I dabble in politics!

Tweaks by XhmikosR
www.addic7ed.com