Original subtitles

(MAN READING)

- BLACKADDER: Baldrick! - Yes, sir.

Oh! Get me some mulled ale, will you? I'm freezing.

How's the King, sir?

Um, about as comfortable as can be expected for a man

who's spending the winter in a blackcurrant bush.

Do you think the Roundheads'll find him?

Certainly not. I've assured him that he is as likely to be caught

as a fox being chased by a pack of one-legged hunting tortoises.

- Is that true? - Yes, of course it's true.

Have you ever known me to lie to the King?

Yes.

- No. - Exactly.

He's absolutely safe, as long as you keep your fat mouth shut.

You can trust me, sir.

(CHUCKLES)

Right, Baldrick, I'm off to answer the call of nature.

If by any freak chance Oliver Cromwell drops in here for a cup of milk

in the next 90 seconds,

remember, the King is not hiding here.

Yes, sir.

♪ Greensleeves... ♪

Good evening, citizen.

I am Oliver Cromwell.

My men have surrounded your house and I am looking for royalist scum.

Is the king hiding here?

Um...

No.

On pain of death and damnation, are you absolutely sure?

Yes, I am.

I see.

Well, then,

my proud beauty,

you won't mind if my men come in from the cold, will you?

Men, come in from the cold, will you?

Now, we shall all have a cup of milk by your fireside.

All right, but don't touch the purple cup.

- Why not? - That's the King's.

Thank you, citizen.

You may leave me alone with King Charles.

(PRINCE CHARLES ACCENT) Ah, Mr Cromwell, how delightful to see you again.

Don't get up, don't get up, tell me, um, have you come far?

I have, sir.

From country squire to law protector of England.

Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

Um, tell me, uh, what exactly does a law protector do?

- He spells your doom, sir. - Spells my doom? Wonderful.

Well, that's particularly exciting because so many people these days

can't spell at all.

Particularly, as you know, in the inner cities,

which is my area of interest. - How truly speaked, sir,

but all your fine words won't save you from the scaffold.

Jolly good, fascinating, carry on.

A priest, sir,

to help you make your peace with God before you die.

Oh, hello.

Your Majesty,

I can arrange for certain monies to be paid to allow you to escape.

Blackadder! You're dressed as a priest.

How... How dangerous and stupid and perverted.

It's just like school.

Look, sire, this is a matter of life and death.

Nonsense, Blackadder. I don't think there's a jury in England

that would bring in a verdict of guilty against me.

- Your Majesty, the verdict of the jury. - Thank you.

So, what does it say? Guilty or not guilty?

I'll give you two guesses.

Not guilty.

One more guess.

Oh, damn.

One measly civil war in the entire history of England

and I'm on the wrong bloody side.

Something wrong, sir?

Yes, Baldrick. Yes, there is. Don't you realise if the king dies,

we royalists are doomed?

We will enter a hideous age of Puritanism.

They'll close all the theatres,

lace handkerchiefs for men will be illegal

and I won't be able to find a friendly face to sit on

this side of Boulogne.

If they so much as suspect our loyalties,

our property will be forfeit and we'll be for the chop.

Ooh, I love chops.

Baldrick, your brain is like

the four-headed, man-eating haddock fish beast of Aberdeen.

- In what way? - It doesn't exist.

Oh, God, what are we going to do?

Don't despair, sir. Something'll pop up.

Not under Puritanism it won't.

We must do something.

We must do something, otherwise the Blackadders

are as doomed as that ant.

What ant?

That one.

So this is the day of the execution of Charles I.

Absolutely not, Your Majesty.

Those Roundhead traitors have one final hurdle that they will never straddle.

How fascinating. And what is that, exactly?

They will never find a man to behead you.

They'd have hundreds of volunteers to cut Cromwell's head off,

he's such an ugly devil.

He's got so many warts on his face, it's only when he sneezes

that you find out which one is his nose.

But they will never find a man to execute you.

Well, you see, I find that absolutely tragic.

You know, there are so many young people who would leap at a chance like this.

And you know, all they need is the initiative somehow.

I suppose, in a sense, that's what my award scheme is all about.

- Really? - Yes.

On the other hand, of course, I don't want my head cut off.

Uh, it's a question of balance, isn't it, like so many things...

Shut up, with the greatest respect, Your Majesty.

- Thank you. - They will never find an executioner.

And if they do, may my conjugal dipstick turn into a tennis racket.

- A message for the King. - Ah, thank you.

Ah.

(TENNIS RETURN POPS)

♪ There's a tavern in the town ♪ In the town!

For God's sakes, stop that, Baldrick.

It's bad enough having one's life in utter ruins without being serenaded

by a moron with all the entertainment value of a tap-dancing oyster.

I'm sorry, sir. I can't help it. See, I've just had a little windfall.

Baldrick, I've told you before, if you're going to do that,

go into the garden.

I mean, I've come into some money.

Really? Family inheritance?

No, I ate that ages ago.

Oh, yes, of course, your thoughtful father bequeathed you a turnip.

No, it was ã50, actually. It was delicious.

But this is just a little something that fell in my lap.

Not the first time that there's been a little something in your lap, Baldrick.

No, but this one is a job.

Really? I just don't understand it.

Where on Earth did they find a man so utterly without heart and soul,

so low and degraded as to accept the job of beheading the King of England?

- Baldrick? - Yes.

That little job that fell into your lap.

Yes?

It wasn't by any chance something to do with an axe,

a basket, a little black mask and the King of England?

No.

- Go on. - I couldn't find a basket.

-You very small, total bastard. -Oh, please, sir. Don't kill me!

I have a cunning plan to save the King.

Forgive me if I don't do a cartwheel of joy.

Your family's record in the department of cunning planning

is about as impressive as Stumpy O'Leg McNoleg's personal best

in the Market Harborough marathon.

All right, what's the plan?

A pumpkin is going to save the King?

Ah! But over here,

I have one that I prepared earlier.

I will balance it on the King's head, like this,

then I will cover his real head with a cloak

and then, when I execute him, instead of cutting off his real head,

I will cut off the pumpkin, and the King survives!

I'm not sure it's going to work, Balders.

Why not?

Because once you've cut it off, you have to hold it up

in front of the crowd and say, "This is the head of a traitor."

At which point, they will shout back, "No, it's not. It's a large pumpkin

with a pathetic moustache drawn on it."

I suppose it's not 100% convincing.

It's not 1% convincing, Baldrick.

However, I'm a busy man and I can't be bothered to punch you at the moment.

Here is my fist, kindly run towards it as fast as you can.

Yes, sir.

I just, I just don't understand it. What possessed you to take the job?

Oh, I'm sorry, sir. It was just a wild, silly, foolish plan.

I thought with the money I got from executing the King,

I could sneak out and buy a brand new king when no one was looking

and pop him back on the throne without anyone noticing.

Your head is as empty as a eunuch's underpants.

You'd do anything for 30 pieces of silver, wouldn't you?

It was a thousand pounds, actually, sir. Plus tip.

Well, I suppose somebody's got to do it, haven't they?

And if it's going to be done, it's got to be done

in a single stroke by someone who actually owns an axe.

We don't want you hacking away at it all afternoon

with that cheap penknife of yours.

It'd be so embarrassing to have King Charles staggering around

Hampton Court tomorrow morning with his neck flapping like a fish's gills.

- Sir, you don't mean... - Yep.

I'm doing it. Lend me your costume. Then go meekly to the King

and inform him that Sir Edmund Blackadder

cannot be with him tomorrow.

And make sure you think up a bloody good excuse.

So that's why he can't be here. Sorry.

I see. I quite understand. Yes.

Sir! The moment has arrived. Are you ready to meet your maker?

Well, I'm always absolutely fascinated to meet people

from all walks of life, but yes, particularly manufacturing industries.

Well, then, have a quick walk and talk with your executioner

and let's get on with it. - Right.

Well, I'm sorry, my friend, I'm alone here today.

I had hoped that my good loyal chum, Sir Edmund Blackadder,

would be here with me. But unfortunately,

his wife's sister's puppy fell into the strawberry patch.

So naturally, he can't be with us.

Aha.

All I can do is bid you do your duty well.

Well, thank you, Your Majesty.

And may I say how much I mourn for your lot

and bid you remember others before you who have died unjustly.

Thank you. I take great solace from that.

Sir Thomas More, for instance, a great, generous man to the last.

He apparently tipped his executioner handsomely.

Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought service was included.

I beg your pardon. Here you are.

Hmm.

- And then there was the Earl of Essex. - Was there?

A truly great man.

They still sing his famous ballad down the Chepstow Arms.

What ballad is that?

# The Earl, he had a thousand sovereigns

# Hey nonny no

# Gave them all away To the man with the axe

♪ Oh ♪

A thousand sovereigns!

Well, you can't take it with you, Your Majesty.

Very true. Well, there you are. Do keep the change.

Thank you, Your Majesty. Right. Should we go?

Just a minute!

That voice has a strangely familiar ring.

And so does that finger.

Blackadder!

Hello, Your Majesty.

You cunning swine!

- Yes, well, uh... - Marvellous! Splendid!

You've duped Cromwell and you've concocted a cunning plan

to help me and my infant son escape to France.

Ah, yes. That's right. Yes.

So, let's put your cunning plan into operation straight away.

Yes, let's.

- Well, you start the ball rolling. - No, no. After you.

Right, yes.

Oh, yes. Yes, right. And it's a very good plan.

It's a staggering, bowel-shatteringly good plan.

- Is the King ready? - He is. Come, Your Majesty.

(THUDDING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

(CROWD SIGHING, DISAPPOINTED)

BLACKADDER: This is the head of a traitor!

CROWD: No, it's not! It's a huge pumpkin

with a pathetic moustache drawn on it.

BLACKADDER: Oh yes, so it is. Sorry. I'll try again.

(THUDDING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

Well, sir, they can't say you didn't try.

Now the future of the British monarchy lies fast asleep in your arms,

in the person of this infant prince.

And with the money you've earned, you and he can escape to France.

Oh, quite.

On the other hand, you can stay here and as a known loyalist,

the Roundheads will come and cut your head off.

Exactly, Baldrick.

(POUNDING ON DOOR)

- Oh, my God! - Come out of the house!

Oh no! We're surrounded! What'll we do?

Well, at times like this, Baldrick, there is no choice for a man of honour.

He must stand and fight and die in defence of his future sovereign.

(POUNDING CONTINUES)

But fortunately, I am not a man of honour.

Thank God you've come! Seize the royalist scum!