All language subtitles for Blackadder.S03E05.DVDX265Panda.en

Tweaks by XhmikosR
www.addic7ed.com

Oh God! Bills, bills, bills.

One is born, one runs
up bills, one dies.

What have I got to show for it?
Nothing.

A butler's uniform
and a slightly effeminate hairdo.

Sometimes I feel like a pelican--
whichever way I turn,

I've still got an enormous
bill in front of me.

Pass the biscuit barrel.

Let's see what's in
the kitty shall we?

Nine pence.
Oh God, what are we going to do?

Don't worry Mr B, I have a cunning
plan to solve the problem.

Let us not forget, that you
tried to solve the problem

of your mother's low ceiling
by cutting off her head.

But this is a really good one.

You become a dashing
highwayman,

then you can pay all your
bills and, on top of that,

everyone'll
want to sleep with you.

Baldrick, I could become a
prostitute and pay my bills,

then everyone would want
to sleep with me,

but I do consider certain
professions beneath me.

Besides, I fail to see why a
thief should be idolised,

just because he has a
horse between his legs.

My favourite's the Shadow.
What a man!

They say he's halfway to being
the new Robin Hood.

- Why only halfway?
- Well, he steals from the rich,

but he hasn't got round
to giving it to the poor yet.

Look, I've got a poster of him.

I have no desire to get hung
for wearing a silly hat.

If I want to get rich
quick, all I have to do

is go upstairs and ask Prince
Fathead for a rise.

The bank's open.

Good morning, sir. May I say how
immensely rich you're looking?

Was there anything you wanted?
Anything at all?

Yes, I was wondering
if you could lend me a bit of cash.

But of course, sir, I... Cash?

Yes, I'm rotten stinking
stoning stinking broke.

What about the 5,000 pounds

that Parliament voted you last week
to drink yourself to death with?

All gone I'm afraid.

You see, I've discovered this
terrifically fun new game.

It's called "cards".

You sit round the table
with your friends,

and you deal out
five "cards" each,

and then the object of
the game

is to give away all your
money as quickly as possible.

- Do you know it?
- Vaguely, sir, yes.

All the chaps say
I'm terrific at it.

I was very bad at it.

I always seemed to end up with
more money than I started with.

It's all down to practice.
I'm a natural apparently.

The only drawback is that
it's pretty damned expensive.

So I was wondering if you could
lend me a couple of hundred.

I'm afraid that's
impossible, sir.

I'm as poor as a church mouse that's
just had an enormous tax bill

on the very day his wife ran off with
another mouse, taking all the cheese.

- What am I going to do?
- It's a difficult one.

Let's see now. You can't borrow money,
you're not going to inherit any money

and obviously you
can't earn money.

Sir, drastic situations
call for drastic measures.

If you can't make money,
you'll have to marry it.

Marry? Never!

I'm a gay bachelor, Blackadder.

I'm a roarer, a rogerer,
a gorger and a puker.

I can't marry.
I'm young, I'm firm buttocked, I'm...

- Broke?
- Well, yes, I suppose so.

And don't forget, sir,
that the modern Church

smiles on roaring and
gorging within wedlock,

and indeed rogering
is keenly encouraged.

And the puking?

I believe is still very
much down to the conscience

of the individual churchgoer.

Well, tally-ho then, Blackadder.
Yes, you fix it up.

You know the kind
of girls I like,

they've got to be lovers,
laughers, dancers...

And bonkers.

That goes without saying.

- Oh God!
- Something wrong, Mr B?

I can't find a single person
suitable to marry the prince.

Please, keep trying,
I love a royal wedding.

The excitement, the crowds,
the souvenir mugs,

the worrying about
whether the bride's lost weight.

Unlikely with this lot,
I'm afraid.

If the prince had stipulated

"must weigh a quarter of
a ton" we'd be laughing.

Of the 262 princesses in Europe,
165 are over 80, they're out,

47 are under 10, they're out,
and 39 are mad.

They sound ideal.

They would be if they
hadn't all got married

last week in Munich
to the same horse.

- Which leaves us with two.
- And what about them?

Well, there's Grand Duchess
Sophia of Turin--

we'll never
get her to marry him.

- Why not?
- Because she's met him.

Which leaves?

- Caroline of Brunswick.
- What's wrong with her?

Get more coffee!
Change it!

Take me roughly from behind!
No, not like that, like this!

Trousers off! Tackle out! Walk
the dog! Where's my presents?

Which one do you
want me to do first?

No, that's what Caroline's like.

She is famous for having the
worst personality in Germany.

And as you can imagine, that's up
against some pretty stiff competition.

- So you're stuck then.
- Yes, I'm afraid I am.

Unless...
Pass me the paper, Baldrick, quick.

Why has half the front
page been cut out?

- I don't know.
- You do know, don't you?

Yes.

You've been cutting out the cuttings
about the elusive Shadow

to put in your
highwayman's scrapbook, haven't you?

I can't help it, Mr B.

His life is so dark and shadowy
and full of fear and trepidation.

So is going to the toilet
in the middle of the night,

but you don't
keep a scrapbook on it.

I do.

Now, let's see, society pages.

You see, it needn't
necessarily be a princess.

All the Prince wants
is someone pretty and rich.

Oh dear,
that rules me out then.

Now, let me see.

"Beau Brummel in
purple pants probe."

"King talks to tree. Phew!
What a loony."

God, the Times has really
gone downhill recently.

Aha! Listen to this:

"Mysterious northern beauty,
Miss Amy Hardwood,

comes to London and spends
flipping great wodges of cash!"

That's our baby!

Honestly, Blackadder, I don't know
why I'm bothering to get dressed.

As soon as I get to the
Naughty Hellfire Club

I'll be de-bagged and radished
for non-payment of debts.

- Radished, sir?
- They pull your britches down.

- And push a large radish right up...
- Yes, all right, sir!

There's no need to
hammer it home.

- As a matter of fact they do often...
- No! No!

- Your money worries are over, sir.
- Well, hurrah for that.

I have found you a bride.

Her name is Amy, daughter of the
noted industrialist, Mr Hardwood.

Dammit, Blackadder,
you know I loathe industrialists.

Sad, balding, little proles in
their damn-your-eyes waistcoats.

All puffed up because they know where
to put the legs on a pair of trousers.

Believe me, sir, these
people are the future.

This man probably owns
half of Lancashire.

His family's got more mills
than you've got brain cells.

- How many mills?
- Seven, sir.

Quite a lot of mills then.

He has patented a machine called
"The Ravelling Nancy".

- What does it do?
- It ravels cotton, sir.

- What for?
- That I cannot say, sir.

I am one of these people who are
quite happy to wear cotton,

but have no idea how it works.

She is also a beauty, sir.

Well, if she's gonna be my bird,
she'd better be.

Right, so what's the plan?

Well, I thought I could
take her a short note

expressing your
honourable intentions.

Yes, yes, I think so too.
All right then, take this down.

"From His Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales to Miss Amy Hardwood.

Tally-ho, my fine saucy young trollop.
Your luck's in.

Trip along here with all your cash,
and some naughty night attire,

and you'll be staring
at my bedroom ceiling

from now till Christmas,
you lucky tart.

Yours with the deepest
respect etc, signed George.

P.S. Woof! Woof!"

- Well, what do you think?
- It's very moving, sir.

Would you mind if I changed
just one tiny aspect of it?

- Which one?
- The words.

I'll leave the details
to you, Blackadder.

Just make sure she knows I'm all man,
with a bit of animal thrown in.

Certainly, sir.

From his Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales to Miss Amy Hardwood:

"The upturned tilt of
your tiny wee nosy,

smells as sweet as
a great big posy."

Fanciful stuff, madam,
but from the heart.

He says my nosy is tiny?

And wee, madam.

Well, he must be an
awful clever clogs,

because you see,
my nosy is tiny,

and so wee, that I sometimes
think the pixies gave it to me.

He continues:
"Oh, Lady Amy, Queen of all your sex."

I apologise for the word, madam,
but Prince George is a man of passion.

Don't worry, I can get pretty
cross myself sometimes.

I've heard a teensy rumour

that the Prince has the manners
of a boy-cow's dingle dangle.

- What do you have to say to that?
- That is a lie, madam.

Prince George is shy and
just pretends to be bluff

and crass and unbelievably
thick and gittish,

whilst deep down he
is a soft little marshmallowy,

pigletty type of creature.

Oh, I'm so glad.

Because, you see, I'm a
delicate tiny thing myself,

weak and silly and like
a little fluffy rabbit.

So I could never marry
a horrible heffalump,

or I might get squished.

Tell me, when can I
meet the lovely Prince?

You want to meet him?

If we're going to get married
I think I probably ought to.

I know! Tell him to come
and serenade me tonight.

I'll be on my balcony
in my jim-jams.

Certainly, madam.

Eh up! Who's this big
girl's blouse, then?

Father, this is Mr Blackadder,
he's come a-wooing from the Prince.

You have a beautiful
and charming daughter, sir.

Indeed I do.

I love her more than any pig,
and that's saying summat!

It certainly is.

And let me tell you,

I'd no more place her in the
hands of an unworthy man

than I'd place my John Thomas
in the hands of a lunatic

with a pair of scissors.

An attitude that does
you credit, sir.

I'd rather take off all my
clothes and paint my bottom blue

than give her to a man
who didn't love her.

What self-respecting
father could do more?

On the other hand,
if he's a prince,

he can have her for ten bob
and a pickled egg.

I can see where your
daughter gets her wit, sir.

I thank you.

Although where she gets
her good looks and charm

is perhaps more of a mystery.

No one ever made money
out of good looks and charm.

You obviously haven't
met Lady Hamilton, sir.

I tell you, Baldrick, I'm not
looking forward to this evening.

Trying to serenade a light
fluffy bunny of a girl

in the company of an arrogant
half German yob with a mad dad.

He is the Prince of Wales.

Have you ever been
to Wales, Baldrick?

No, but I've often
thought I'd like to.

Well don't, it's
a ghastly place.

Huge gangs of tough sinewy
men roam the valleys

terrifying people with their
close harmony singing.

You need half a pint
of phlegm in your throat

just to pronounce
the place-names.

Never ask for directions
in Wales, Baldrick,

you'll be washing spit out of
your hair for a fortnight.

So being Prince of it
isn't considered a plus?

I fear not, no.

But the crucial thing
is that they must never

be left alone together
before the marriage.

- Isn't that a bit unfair on her?
- It's not exactly fair on him either.

The girl is wetter
than a haddock's bathing costume.

But you know, Baldrick,
the world isn't fair.

If it was, things like this
wouldn't happen, would they?

What's the plan?

Shin up the drain and
ask her if she'll take delivery

of a consignment
of German sausage?

No, sir. As we rehearsed:
poetry first, sausage later.

Right. So, what do you think?

"Harold the Horny Hunter"
should do the trick.

Remind me of it, sir.

"Harold the Horny hunter,
had an enormous horn."

It is absolutely
excellent, sir.

However, might I suggest
an alternative?

"Lovely little dumpling,
how in love I am.

Let me be your shepherdkins,
you can be my lamb."

I think we'll be very
lucky if she doesn't

just come out onto the balcony
and vomit over us.

Let's give it a whirl.

Just stand right here, sir.
Call for her romantically.

Oy! Come on out here, you
rollicking trolloping sauce bottle!

- George?
- Woof! Woof!

Is that you?

Yes, 'tis I, your gorgeous
little love bundle.

Oh, George, I think you
must be the snuggly

wuggliest lambkin in
the whole of toy-land.

Yucch!

What was that?

Nothing, there was just a little
fly in my throaty. Yucch, yucch...

Do you want a hanky wanky
to gob the phlegmy wemmy woo into?

Phwoah! Crikey!

What was that?
Is there someone down there with you?

No, it was just the wind
whistling through the trees

and making a noise that sounded like
"phwoaaaah crikeeeeeey".

Oh, joy!

Then come, Prince Cuddly
Kitten, climb up my ivy.

Sausage time!

There is someone
down there with you!

Oh my God, so there is.

A filthy intruder
spying on our love.

Hit him, George, hit him!

Very well. Would you mind
screaming, Your Highness.

Take that! And that!

And that!

Oh, you're so brave!

And I'm so worn out
with all the excitement

that I'd better
go sleepy bobos,

otherwise I'll be all
cross in the morning.

- Nighty-night, Georgy Porgy!
- Nighty-wighty, Amy Wamy.

I think it worked, sir.

In the morning I shall go
in and ask her father,

you go out and start
spending his money.

I can't stand meanness
when it comes to wedding presents.

And well done, sir,
you were brilliant.

- Was I?
- Yes, sir.

- But I'm in agony!
- Well, that's love for you.

Sir, I come as emissary
of the Prince of Wales

with the most splendid news.

He wants your daughter
Amy for his wife.

Well his wife can't have her!

Outrageous, sir, to come
here with such a suggestion!

Mind, sir, or I shall
take off my belt

and by thunder me trousers
will fall down!

No, sir, you misunderstand.

He wants to marry
your lovely daughter.

Ah, ah...
Can it be possibly true?

Surely love has never crossed
such boundaries of class?

What about you and Mum?

I grant thee, when I first met
her, I was the farmer's son

and she was just the lass who ate the
dung, but that was an exception.

And Aunty Dot and Uncle Ted.

Yes, he was a pig poker and she
was the Duchess of Argyle, but...

And Aunty Ruth was a milkmaid
and Uncle Isiah...

The Pope!
Yes, yes, all right. Don't argue.

Suffice to say if you marry,
we need never be poor

or hungry again.
Sir, we accept.

Good. So obviously you'll be
wanting an enormous ceremony...

What did you say?

Well, obviously, now
we're marrying quality,

we'll never be poor
or hungry again.

Meaning, that you are poor
and hungry at the moment?

Oh yes!

We've been living off lard
butties for five years now.

I'm so poor I use my
underpants for drying dishes.

- So you're skint?
- Aye.

In that case, the wedding's off.
Good day.

But what about George's
lovey-wovey poems

that won my hearty-wearty?

All writteny-witteny by me-wee
I'm afraidy-waidy. Goodbye.

Sir, you know I told
you to go out

and spend a lot of money
on wedding presents.

Well apparent--

Yes?

Nothing.

Crisis, Baldrick, crisis!
No marriage, no money, more bills!

For the first time I've decided
to follow a suggestion of yours.

Saddle Prince George's horse.

You're not becoming a highwayman,
are you?

No, I'm auditioning
for the part of Arnold the Bat

in Sheridan's new comedy.

Oh, that's all right then.

Baldrick, have you no
idea what irony is?

Yeah, it's like goldy and bronzy,
only it's made of iron.

Never mind, never mind.
Just saddle the Prince's horse.

That'll be difficult,

he wrapped her round that gas
lamp in the Strand last night.

Saddle my horse then.

What do you think you've been
eating for the last two months?

Well go out into the street
and hire me a horse.

Hire you a horse? For ninepence?
On Jewish New Year in the rain?

A bare fortnight after the dreaded
horse plague of Old London Town?

With the blacksmith's
strike in its 15th week

and the Dorset Horse-Fetishists
fair tomorrow?

Right, well get this on then.

It looks as though you could
do with the exercise.

Honestly, Papa. Ever since mother died
you've tried to stop me growing up.

I'm not a little girl,
I'm a grown woman.

In fact I might as well
tell you now, Papa:

I'm pregnant,
and I'm an opium fiend,

and I'm in love with a
poet called Shelley,

who's a famous whoopsy.

And mother didn't die,
I killed her!

Well, never mind.

Stand and deliver!

Oh no-- disaster. It's the Shadow--
we're doomed, doomed.

Good evening, Duke, and the
lovely Miss Cheapside.

Your cash-bags, please.

You'll never get away with this!
You'll be caught and damn well hung.

- I think he looks...
- Madam, please.

Not the jest about me looking pretty
well hung already, we have no time.

- Now, sir, turn out your pockets.
- Never, sir!

A man's pockets are his
own private kingdom.

I'll protect them
with my life.

Got something embarrassing
in there, have you?

A particularly repulsive
handkerchief, hm?

One of those fellows
who has a big blow

and then doesn't
change it for a week?

- Aha!
- Highwayman, I also have a jewel.

I fear however, that I
have placed it here,

beneath my petticoat,
for protection.

Well in that case I
think I'll leave it.

I'm not sure I fancy the idea of a
jewel that's been in someone's pants.

A single kiss of those soft
lips is all I require.

Never, sir!

A man's soft lips are his
own private kingdom,

I shall defend
them with my life.

I'm not talking to you, grandad.

Oh, I am overcome. Take me with you
to live the life of the wild rogue,

cuddling under haystacks and making
love in the branches of tall trees.

Madam, sadly I must decline--

I fear my horse would collapse with
you on top of him as well as me.

I could try.

- No, Quicksilver, you couldn't.
- That's not fair then.

I had you on my back for ten miles,
and I don't even get a kiss out of it.

All right, very well then...

- All fair now?
- Not really, no.

No pleasing some horses.
Hi ho, Quicksilver!

Papa, you did nothing
to defend my honour.

Oh, shut your face,
you pregnant junkie fag-hag.

Well, Baldrick,
a good night's work, I think.

It's time to divide the loot.

And I think it's only fair that
we should share it equally.

Which I suppose is
highwayman's talk

for you get the cash,
I get the snotty hankie.

No, we did this robbery together,
so you get half the cash.

Thank you, Mr B.

This robbery, on the other
hand, I'm doing alone.

Hand it over, your
money or your life.

There you see, all
fair and above board.

Fair enoguh. As long as I haven't
been cheated I don't mind.

Hands up! I'm the Shadow,
and I never miss.

Oh no.

- You, the one that looks like a pig.
- He's talking to you, Baldrick.

Scedaddle!

So... who have we here.

A well set up fellow indeed.
Sir, a kiss.

Sorry, I'm not sure
I heard that correctly.

Oh dear. Maybe your
ears need unblocking.

Oh, a kiss! Of course.

Then perhaps a light supper,
some dancing,

who knows where it might lead.

- Good Lord, it's you!
- Of course!

- But your voice?
- Clever, isn't it?

- Does your father know you're out?
- He had to go.

- You mean he's dead?
- Yes. Dead as that squirrel.

Which squirrel?

Oh, that squirrel.

Of course!

You killed him for ruining your
chances of marrying Prince George.

I despise the Prince.
Don't you know it's you I want.

I want a real man.
A man who can sew on a button.

A man who knows where
the towels are kept.

And yes, I crave your
fabulous sinewy body.

Well, you're only human.

Here's the plan, brown eyes,

you rob the Prince of
everything he's got,

right down to the clothes
he's standing in.

I'll get my stash
and meet you here.

Then we run away to
the West Indies.

Well, I don't know,
I'll have to think about it.

I've thought about it,
it's a brilliant plan.

See you here tomorrow.

Right, I'm off.

Oh, sir, but what
about the danger?

Look, the reward is
going up day by day.

I laugh in the face of danger.

I drop ice-cubes down
the vest of fear.

Things couldn't be better, Baldrick.
She'll get me abroad and make me rich.

Then I'll probably drop her and get
200 concubines to share my bed.

Wouldn't that be rather prickly?

Concubines, Baldrick,
not porcupines.

I still can't believe
you're leaving me behind.

Don't you worry--

when we're established on
our plantation in Barbados,

I'll send for you.

No more sad little
London for you, Balders.

From now on, you'll stand out
in life as an individual.

Will I?

Of course you will, all the
other slaves will be black.

Oh, Mr Blackadder,

what's all this I hear about
you buying a bathing-costume

and forty gallons
of coconut oil.

- Are you going abroad then, sir?
- Yes, I'm off.

Oh, sir, what a tragic
end to all my dreams.

And I'd always hoped
you would marry me

and that together we might await
the slither of tiny Adders.

Mrs M, if we were the last
three humans on earth

I'd be trying to start a
family with Baldrick.

Here I am, all packed
and ready to go.

Darling, I'm so
pleased to see you.

And I've got a little
surprise for you.

Close your eyes
and open your mouth.

Hand over the loot,
goat brains.

Ha ha ha!

I always said the bedrock
of a good relationship

is being able to
laugh together.

Good. Well done.
So, which way to Barbados?

You're not going to Barbados.

Get away from the cart, Mr Slimy,
or I'll fill you so full of lead

we could sharpen your head
and call you a pencil.

This is turning into a
really rotten evening.

You'd better make the most
of it-- it's your last.

And it's a pity,

because it's usually against my
principles to shoot dumb animals.

- Except squirrels?
- Yes. Bastards.

I hate them with their long tails
and their stupid twitchy noses.

I shall return at midnight
to collect the loot--

when I'll fill you
so full of holes

I could market you as a
new English cheese.

Oh God, what a way to die.

Shot by a transvestite
on an unrealistic grassy knoll.

- Morning, Mr B.
- Baldrick!

Thank you for introducing me
to a genuinely new experience.

- What experience is that?
- Being pleased to see you.

What are you doing here,
you revolting animal?

I've come for the
Shadow's autograph.

You know, I'm a great
fan of the Shadow.

Yes. Just untie
me, Baldrick.

Has he gone?
What a pity.

I wanted him to autograph
my new poster.

Look, his reward's gone up
to ten thousand pounds.

Good Lord, ten thousand pounds -
that gives me an idea.

Baldrick, take this cart-load
of loot back to the palace

and meet me
back here at midnight

with ten soldiers,
a restless lynch-mob

and a small portable gallows.

Ha ha! Brekkers!

I could eat fourteen
trays of it this morning

and still have room for
a dolphin on toast.

Any particular reason
for this gluttonous levity, sir?

Well, what do you think, Blackadder?
I'm in love. I'm in love. I'm in love.

Oh, Amy, bless all ten
of your tiny pinkies.

Now, let's see what's in the paper.

Oh my God! She's been
arrested and hanged.

Really?

- It turns out she was a highwayman.
- These modern girls.

Apparently someone tipped
off the authorities

and collected the ten
thousand pounds reward.

What a greasy sneak.
If only I could get my hands on him.

You can't trust
anyone these days.

It says here that she
had an accomplice.

But they don't know who it was.

Oh, Amy, Amy, Amy,
I shall never forget you.

Never ever never ever...

- Right, what's for breakfast?
- Kedgeree, sir.

Great. I didn't need
to get married anyway.

I've got pots of money.

Really?

The most extraordinary
thing happened.

I was a bit peckish
during the night,

so I nipped downstairs
to the biscuit barrel.

The biscuit barrel?

And do you know what
I found inside?

Ten thousand pounds
I never knew I had.

I've got so much money now
I don't know what to do with it.

- How about a game of cards, sir?
- Excellent idea!

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