Original subtitles

As the good Lord said, "Love thy neighbour as thyself..."

Unless he's Turkish, in which case, "Kill the bastard!"

- Farewell, dear Harry. - Farewell, Father.

And his slimy son Edmund to do the tasks most befitting him.

Edward.

My Lord...

- With the King gone... - Hmm?

Of course!

At last, the chance for some real power!

On! Onward! I want you scum back to the castle by sundown

or you'll be slaughtered! Onward!

Come on! Come on!

Shut up! And you can keep quiet, all right.

I've just about had enough of you.

Shut up!

Right, come on, you... Where are you going?

Stop! Where are you going?

No, not away from the castle, towards it!

Shut up!

Splendid! Splendid!

Now, look. You're not supposed to be here!

That's far enough. Now, get out!

If I could get my hands on that bastard brother, Harry!

Ah! Edmund!

Ah! Edmund!

Ah! There you are! Splendid news, Edmund! Father's coming home!

He writes here that he'll be back by St Leonard's Day.

Excellent. So we can celebrate both events together. Now, then...

I shall handle the visiting royalty, of course,

and the guards of honour and the papal legate,

and you can, uh... You can sort out the frolics.

- The frolics? - Yes.

The Morris dancers, the eunuchs and the bearded women.

You know, the traditional St Leonard's Day entertainments.

Oh, damnation! No, I don't think

I'm gonna have enough time to attend to the drains.

Edmund! You'll have to look into those as well.

Er... Yes, yes.

- Fine, fine, I'd be honoured! - Good!

You won't let me down now, will you?

No, no, no, no. No, I'm really looking forward to it already.

- Thank you so very much. - Splendid!

Twelve months of chasing sheep and straightening the royal portraits,

and now this.

The bastard!

The bastard!

If only he were, My Lord.

- What? - If only he were a bastard, My Lord,

then you would be Regent now.

Ah, yes! And then one day...

You would be king, My Lord.

Ah. yes!

Yes, I would be king.

And then what?

You'd rule the world, My Lord!

Precisely!

It's just not fair, you know.

Every other damn woman in the court has bastard sons

but not my mother, oh no.

She's so damn pure,

she daren't look down in case she notices her own breasts.

You must be so looking forward to the King's return, Your Majesty.

No.

No, my lady?

But think, he will come to your chamber and make mad, passionate love to you.

Yes. I wish he wouldn't do that.

It's very difficult to sleep with that kind of thing going on.

Being used all night long, like the outside of a sausage roll.

Still, we've got the St Leonard's Day celebrations

to look forward to...

The jesters, the jugglers...

A great brown ox, steaming and smouldering all night long.

Oh, yes! The feast!

Sorry? No, I was thinking of something else.

I particularly hope they've got the Morris dancers. I love them.

Yes. I like the eunuchs.

Oh, yes! The eunuchs!

Ah! I wish I owned one.

I wish I'd married one.

No, fine, fine.

Could have happened to anyone. Never mind, never mind.

Oh, God. I don't believe it.

We've only got one act, and she's shaved her beard off.

- There's always the eunuchs, My Lord. - Oh, yes. So...

The eunuchs and the amazing beardless woman. What a line-up!

Percy, there must be someone else! There must be. Look!

Ah, those are the jumping Jews of Jerusalem, My Lord.

What do they do?

- They jump, My Lord. - What?

They come in, My Lord, and they jump. A lot.

It's a humourous act.

There must be something else, surely.

Ha! What's this? "The Death of the Pharaoh."

"Sir Dominic Prick and his Magnificent Strolling Wooferoonies"

"perform the tragic ancient Egyptian masterpiece The Death of the Pharaoh."

That sounds funny.

Oh, no, no, no. I found that very moving, My Lord.

Well, it'd better be funny, or Prick will get his comeuppance,

I can tell you!

My Lord, what about Gerry Merryweather and his four chickens?

- What do they do? Lay eggs? - Yes, My Lord.

All right, all right. We'll have them. We'll have them.

Post.

What... What is it, My Lord?

The eunuchs have cancelled.

Oh, dear.

Ha! I should have known! Never trust a eunuch!

- What are we gonna do? - I know what I'm gonna do.

Baldrick, give me an execution order.

I'm gonna teach them a lesson they'll never forget.

I'll remove whatever extraneous parts of their bodies still remain!

My Lord...

Take that to the Lord Chancellor. Thank you.

Oh, God. This is desperate! Desperate!

We could have the Morris dancers, My Lord.

Now, look. We are not that desperate.

Morris dancing is the most fatuous, tenth-rate entertainment

ever devised by man.

Forty effeminate blacksmiths waving bits of cloth

they've just wiped their noses on!

How it's still going on in this day and age, I'll never know.

Sorry, so do you want them, or not?

Ah, Edmund.

- And rest. - Oh, splendid.

How are the rest of the entertainments coming along?

Oh, um, very, very well indeed.

Um... I think it's going to have a slightly spartan look.

What? Greek?

- Er... Yes, that's right. Yes, a Greek. - Oh, good.

- Oh, everyone turning up? - Oh, absolutely everyone.

Um, so many people, in fact,

that I'm afraid I've had to let the eunuchs go.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no!

- No? - No! That won't do at all!

Not on St Leonard's Day.

Because... Well, correct me if I'm wrong, Lord Percy, but...

Uh, St Leonard himself was an eunuch.

Yes, that's right.

Well, that's why I thought it might be more tactful...

Oh, no, no, no, no.

To leave out the eunuchs on St Leonard's Day would be like...

Well, it would be like leaving out the Morris dancers or the bearded women!

Besides, Lord Dougal McAngus, the King's Supreme Commander,

is expected at the feast,

and as you know eunuchs are his particular favourite.

- Mmm. - He's Scottish, you see.

Ah.

Good, good. Well, I'm relying on you, Edmund. Carry on!

So! Some carrot-faced, thistle-arsed,

Scottish old rag-a-tag wants a eunuch, does he?

Apparently, he's a great warrior, My Lord.

Oh, yes. That's what they all say.

Those Scots... They're just barbarians!

- Half of them can't even speak English. - What do they speak?

- I don't know. It's all Greek to me. - Oh, do you speak Greek?

No. I mean it sounds like Greek.

Well, if it sounds like Greek, then it probably is Greek.

It's not Greek.

But it sounds like Greek.

"What's not Greek, but sounds like Greek?" That's a good one, My Lord.

Look it's not meant to be a brain teaser, Percy.

I've been telling you that I cannot understand a blind word they're saying.

No wonder, My Lord. You never learned Greek, of course.

Percy, have you ever wondered what your inside would look like?

Sometimes, My Lord, yes.

I'd be perfectly willing to satisfy your curiosity.

Is that clear? Is it?

Oh, my God, this Scotsman's beginning to annoy me already.

I'm the Duke of Edinburgh, you know!

And Laird of Roxburgh, Selkirk and Peebles.

I can make things very difficult for him.

As for these entertainments... Oh, I don't know.

Baldrick, you've got a beard.

Go and get yourself a nice dress.

- Oh, great, My Lord! - Percy!

You'd better go and get Bernard the bear-baiter.

- Yes, My Lord. - Looks like we'll be needing him.

- Uh, Percy. - Yes, My Lord?

Tell him to bring a bear this time.

The improvising last year was pathetic.

Now then, Mother. A toast to Father's return.

What the devil...

- Dougal McAngus! - Oh, but of course!

Noble Harry, Prince of Wales,

Dougal McAngus greets you and lays at your feet the spoils of an enemy at war.

Oh, sorry, that's, er... That's my overnight bag.

Behold! Treasures torn from the torsos of a Turk.

Oh, McAngus! It fills me with joy and hope to see you.

What news of my father, the King?

Oh, when I last saw him, he swore he'd be back by the feast of St Leonard,

- or die in the attempt. - God forfend!

We shall pray for his safe passage. Join us!

Join us. You must be starving.

- And young Lochinvar? - Oh, yes. And him, too.

Come on, Lochinvar!

You must be the King's wee bit of rumpy-pumpy.

- I am the Queen. - Aye, aye. I've got a message for you.

My father asked me to send his regards to you.

Do I know him?

Oh, I think you can say that. Yes.

He's Donal McAngus, third Duke of Argyll.

Oh!

Ah, Edmund! There you are!

McAngus, this is the man who is providing

the entertainments for us tomorrow.

Ah, the eunuch!

Here. There's a groat for your trouble.

Uh... I am not a eunuch.

Well, you sound like one to me.

I am not a eunuch. I am the Duke of Edinburgh.

- Oh, you are, are you? - Yes!

Same old story, eh?

Duke of Edinburgh, and as Scottish as the Queen of England's tits!

Sorry, uh... No offence, Your Majesty.

I'm sorry... You're in my chair.

Don't apologise.

Well, now we've all got to know each other,

I have rather a special announcement to make.

Don't tell me, you're a eunuch as well?

McAngus, as reward for your heroic deeds in battle,

my father here empowers me to grant you anything that you may desire of me.

If he's got any sense, he'll ask for a haircut.

Brother, I'm honoured. All I ask for is a scrap of land.

Grant me fair Selkirk and the noble shire of Roxburgh.

- What? - Very well. By the power vested in me...

Oh, excuse me, um, I'm sorry to dip my little fly in your ointment

but those lands do, in fact, belong to me.

Yes?

Well, so... Perhaps he'd like to choose somewhere else.

- McAngus? - No, no. I'll have Roxburgh and Selkirk.

But that leaves me with Peebles!

- Oh, aye! And Peebles. - But, but...

Are you trying to say something, Edmund?

Well, I don't know. I mean, some people might say,

"Well, what an absurd idea, giving away half of Scotland to a kilted maniac,"

"for slaughtering a couple of syphilitic Turks..."

Au contraire, I say,

"Let's reward him."

Good, good. So be it.

Hurray!

I'm going to kill him. And I'm going to kill him now!

- Who, My Lord? - That stinking Scottish weasel.

Why. My Lord?

Because he's a thieving stinking Scottish weasel, that's why.

- How? - I'm gonna stab him.

- Where? - In the Great Hall and in the bladder.

But if you do it in front of everybody, won't they suspect something?

Yes.

Yes, a drawback.

Yes, perhaps we need something

a little more cunning.

I have a cunning plan.

Yes, perhaps. But I think I have a more cunning one.

Mine's pretty cunning, My Lord.

Yes, but not cunning enough, I imagine.

Depends on how cunning you mean, My Lord.

Well, then, pretty damn cunning! How cunning do you think I mean?

Oh, mine's quite cunning, My Lord.

All right, then let's hear it. Let's hear what's so damn cunning!

All right. Well, first of all, you get him to come with you.

Oh, yes. Very cunning. Brilliantly cunning.

I ask him to come with me, then stab him, perhaps?

- How cunning can you get? - No, My Lord.

- You get this enormous great cannon... - Oh, I see, take him outside,

get him to stick his head down a cannon, then blow it off!

- Yeah, yeah. - Yes! Oh yes, Baldrick, that's...

A wonderful idea.

No, I think I have a plan that will give us a little more...

Entertainment.

Ahhh!

Can I help ye?

Erm, er, no. No, I'm fine, thank you.

Good.

- I'm not in your way over here, am I? - No.

Oh, there is just, er, one thing.

Erm, I was wondering if you could do me a little favour.

Uh-huh?

Erm, I was wondering if you'd like to help with the celebrations tonight.

How? By staying away, do you mean?

Whoa!

Erm... Well...

Thing is, erm, we were hoping to present a mystery play

by one of our leading thespianic troupes

erm, but, unfortunately, one of their number is ill, erm...

And I thought you'd be the perfect person to take his place.

Well, I warn ye...

I'm no actor.

Well, there shouldn't be much acting required.

Erm...

It's an ancient Egyptian piece...

Er, called The Death of the Scotsman.

I'll have a crack at it.

You, er...

You can play the Scotsman, if you like,

who... Who dies at the end of the play.

Oh, acting dead? That I can do.

Yes, well, as I say...

There may not be much acting required.

Oh, and mind the weasel pit.

Percy!

Tall as a tree! Let's see those branches waving and swaying in the breeze.

Tall, tall, taller.

- Now smaller! Small, small, small... - Ah!

Baldrick! Have you made the necessary changes?

Yes, My Lord.

McAngus...

Meet your murderers.

How did it go?

Er, not bad,

but, you know, I don't really think they understood it.

We three are gathered with most bold intent...

Here, by the banks of the graceful Nile,

where camels ride and deserts blow...

To spill the blood of this Scotsman vile.

What is a Scotsman doing in Egypt?

I'm not sure, but apparently, they've had very good reviews.

See your mother there?

I met my father on the way back from France...

Apparently, him and your mother used to...

Now, don't be absurd.

Such activities are totally beyond my mother.

My father only got anywhere with her because he told her

it was a cure for diarrhoea.

Don't you believe it.

I got some letters that I took from his tent.

By God, they're hot stuff!

I tell you, they certainly cast a wee shadow of doubt

over the parenthood of young Harry for a start!

- Oh, don't be absurd! - Silence!

What?

A bagpipe strums. Behold!

This way our victim comes.

- For never... - Oh, that's my cue. I'm on!

Letters? Letters? Where are these letters?

They're safely hidden away. I'll show you them later!

Oh, all right.

Tutankhamen McPherson, you come not a whit too soon,

for is this not the weather fair, or this the Ides of June?

McAngus: Aye, it is.

What business do you mean?

Quickly! McAngus is going to die!

- And not a moment too soon! - Carrot-faced or an gut an!

- Thieving Scots weasel! - Death to the Scot!

No, no, look. No, look. He knows too much!

That is why he must die!

No, look. He mustn't, he mustn't.

He has vital information.

I've changed my mind. I've changed my mind.

Oh, my God. What am I going to do?

- Stop the show, My Lord. - But, how? How?

Well, just say "Stop".

What's our reason... What's our reason for stopping the show?

Because the knives are real, and McAngus is just about to get killed.

No, you bastard!

My Lord. Quick.

Stop!

Sorry, I'm late.

Yes!

Good. Excellent. It's certainly my mother's handwriting.

- When did you say these were written? - Er, 1460.

The year my brother was born.

Baldrick! Get in here.

Baldrick, get out there,

and tell everyone that the rest of the entertainments have been cancelled.

- Why? - Why? Because I told you to,

you silly little runt!

No. Why have they been cancelled, My Lord?

Oh, I see.

Well, tell them I have a very important announcement to make.

Does that mean I have to take the dress off?

Oh, get out! Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!

Well, if you played your cards right, you could become king.

Oh, yes, one day.

Ah, sooner than you think, maybe.

Cos last time I saw your father, he'd just charged into Constantinople

- and they shut the gates on him. - No?

Yes! 10,000 of the Turk and they're armed with scimitars,

and your father with a small knife for peeling fruit.

Oh, God...

Gerry Merryweather.

Another nail in the coffin of variety.

I liked Bernard the rabbit-baiter.

Thank you. Thank you.

Look, Edmund, is this announcement going to take long?

I haven't seen hide nor hair of a eunuch yet.

No, don't worry, Harry. It will soon all be over.

My dear mother, my dear brother, lords and ladies of the Court.

Today there came into my possession from the hands, My Lord,

of your faithful servant, Dougal McAngus

certain letters, rather extraordinary letters

concerning the lineage of Prince Harry.

Letters?

- What is so extraordinary about them? - Letters?

Well, Harry, they were written by your mother to your father.

Your father, Harry, being, of course, Donal, Sir Duke of Argyll.

I beg your pardon?

These letters are of quite an intimate nature.

Let me give you an example.

"Arundel, Thursday. My dear hairy-wairy,"

"Often, as you sit at table with my husband,"

"probing deeply into the affairs of state,"

"I long for the day when you will probe..."

Edmund!

Are you sure you know what you're saying?

As sure as our mother was, Harry, when she wrote these words...

"Dear big-boy, sail south."

"As you know, your galleon is always assured a warm welcome in my harbour."

"Big-boy!" Mother! Do you know anything about this?

Well, what chance did I have? I was just a little foreign girl.

Then I must renounce the regency and hie me to a monastery.

Edmund, you shall be Regent until your father returns.

- The King will not be returning. - What?

Oh, dear.

No. When McAngus last saw him,

he was facing half the Turkish army,

armed only with a small piece of cutlery.

So, Percy, if you'd like to start things off...

The King is dead. Long live the King.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

Probably dead.

The King is probably dead.

Long live the King. The King is probably dead.

Long live the King. The King is...

...not dead. Long live the King. Hurray!

Blood! Death! War!

Rumpy-pumpy!

Triumph!

McAngus!

My companion in blood, and most trusted friend!

- You made it! - Yes!

I made it. Thanks to my trusty fruit knife.

Wait a minute.

What's going on here?

Who are you?

He's our son.

What?

Oh, yes, of course.

Enid.

My beloved father, certain letters have come to light

which might change things a bit around here.

Letters? What letters?

They speak of acts of love between your wife and Donal,

the Gay Dog of the Glens.

"How I long to be in that kingdom between the saffron sheets,

"where you and your ruler are the only ruler...

- Oh! - "...and then acts of love consummated,

"oh, you enormous Scotsman." Etc, etc.

These letters are dated November and December 1460

which, Harry, in relation to your date of birth, is precisely nine months...

After I was born!

But about nine months before your birth, Edmund.

Ergh!

You bastard!

No, I think you're the bastard, Edmund.

Silence! I want an explanation!

Er...

My liege...

The reason I have gathered you all here today

is to try to get some proper justice meted out against this Scottish turd

who has clearly forged these obviously fake letters.

- Let me see them! - No! I rip them up in his face

so no hint of their filthy slander can remain!

You come in here, fresh from slaughtering a couple of chocos

when their backs were turned

and think you can upset the harmony of a whole kingdom?

- I challenge you to a duel! - To the death!

Um... Yes, all right.

Excellent idea!

After all, it is St Leonard's Day...

There's meant to be some entertainment!

Good, very good! Take your places.

It is nice to see old Glenshee again, eh, McAngus?

Reminds me of the time with the three Turks and the human shish kebab!

How could I ever forget?

Very well. Let the killing begin!

Let's see the Black Adder wriggle out of this one!

Shut up!

Come on! What's the hold-up?

Um... I'll give you everything I own. Everything!

Ah-ha!

Erm, I'm hardly a rich man...

You're hardly a man at all!

But...

My horse must be worth 1,000 ducats.

I can sell my wardrobe, the pride of my life.

My swords, my curtains, my socks and my fighting cocks.

Oh, my servants, I can live without...

Except perhaps he who oils my rack.

And then, my most intimate treasures...

My collection of antique cod-pieces,

my wigs for state occasions,

my wigs for private occasions, and my wigs

for humourous occasions.

And my collection of pokers, my grendle-stretchers,

my ornamental pomfreys

and of course, my autographed miniature of Judas Iscariot.

That's nowhere near enough!

Ah, I'm only kidding!

Actually, I'm quite interested in the wigs.

Never mind!

Ah! Hey!

Hope life doesn't become too dull,

not being able to pass laws over Scotland.

I wouldn't pass water over Scotland!

I'm fed up!

We're all terribly pleased you're back, Father.

I'm not.

I miss the smell of blood in my nostrils.

- And the Queen's "got a headache". - Oh, dear.

But we do have a fascinating week ahead.

Erm, in fact, the Archbishop of York has asked me

if you'd care to join his formation Italian dance class.

And I really I ought to give him an answer.

Do you want be to be honest, or tactful?

Er, tactful, I think.

- Tell him to get stuffed! - Right.

Has that little hooligan McAngus left?

Er, no. Edmund's giving him a last look round the castle now.

While this...

Well, I'll be sorry to see him go.

McAngus: Ah, very interesting!

Yes, and so will Edmund.

They've become firm friends.

What the devil...

- The Turks? - The drains!

Father! Harry!

There's been rather a messy accident. You must come quickly!

Oh, God! I shall get my plunger!

♪ The sound of hoof beats 'cross the glade ♪

♪ Good folk, lock up your son and daughter ♪

♪ Beware the deadly flashing blade ♪

♪ Unless you want to end up shorter ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ He rides a pitch-black steed ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ He's very bad indeed ♪

♪ Black, his gloves of finest mole ♪

♪ Black, his codpiece made of metal ♪

♪ His horse is blacker than a hole ♪

♪ His pot is blacker than his kettle ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ With many a cunning plan ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ Black Adder ♪

♪ You horrid little man! ♪