Original subtitles

By the centre, quick march!

(MARCHING MUSIC PLAYING)

Eyes right!

Eyes right!

(ON PHONOGRAPH) # A wandering minstrel

(BOMBS EXPLODING)

(SONG SKIPPING) #A wandering minstrel I... ...minstrel I

# A thing of shreds and patches

(BOMBS EXPLODING)

# A thing of shreds and... A thing of... #

-(SHELLS WHISTLING) -Oh, God! Why do they bother?

Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, sir?

Yes, but Jerry is safe underground in concrete bunkers.

We've shot off over a million cannon shells,

and what's the result?

One dachshund with a slight limp.

-(BOMB EXPLODING) -Shut up!

- (BOMBS CEASE) -Thank you.

Right, I'm off to bed, where I intend to sleep

until my name changes to Rip Van Adder.

# And dreamy lullaby #

Ah...

Mmm...

(SIGHING)

(AIRCRAFT PASSING OVERHEAD)

(MACHINE GUN FIRING)

Oh, the bloody Germans! They can't take a joke, can they?

Just cos we take a few pot-shots at them,

they have to have an air raid to get their own back.

Where are our air force?

The men that defend us against this sort of thing.

(AIRCRAFT FLYING OVERHEAD)

Right! That's it! (GRUNTING)

Hello?

Yes, I'd like to leave a message for the head of the Flying Corps, please.

To Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Massingbird-Massingbird VC, DFC and Bar.

Message reads, "Where are you, you bastard?"

-Here I am, sir. -For God's sake Baldrick, take cover!

-Why's that, sir? -Because there's an air raid going on

and I don't want to have to write to your mother at London Zoo

and tell her that her only human child is dead.

All right, sir. It's just that I didn't know there was an air raid on.

I couldn't hear anything over the noise of the terrific display

by our wonderful boys at the Royal Flying Corps, sir.

-What? -I say, those chaps

can't half thunder in their airborne steeds!

Can't they just...

Hello, what's going on here? Game of hide and seek?

Excellent! Right, er, I'll go and count to 100.

Er, no, better make it five actually.

Oh, it's sardines! Oh, excellent! That's my favourite one then.

-George! -Yes, sir?

Shut up and never say anything again as long as you live.

Right you are, sir!

Crikey, but what a show it was, sir! Lord Flasheart's Flying Aces.

How we cheered when they spun, how we shouted when they dived!

How we applauded when one chap got sliced in half by his own propeller.

Well, it's part of a joke

for those magnificent men in their flying machines.

(CRASHING)

For "magnificent men" read "biggest show-offs

"since Lady Godiva entered the royal enclosure at Ascot,

"claiming she had literally nothing to wear."

I don't care how many times they go up-diddly-up-up, they're still gits.

Oh, come on, sir. I'd love to be a flier

up there where the air is clear.

The chances of the air being clear anywhere near you, Baldrick, are zero.

Oh, sir, it'd be great, swooping and diving.

- (IMITATING AIRCRAFT NOISE) -Baldrick...

-Baldrick... -(CONTINUES IMITATING AIRCRAFT NOISE)

Baldrick, what are you doing?

-I'm a Sopwith Camel, sir. -Oh, it is a Sopwith Camel.

Ah, all right. I always get confused between the sound of a Sopwith Camel

and the sound of a malodourous runt wasting everybody's time.

Now, if you can do without me in the nursery for a while,

I'm going to get some fresh air.

- (SIGHING) -Ha! Eat knuckle, Fritz!

(GRUNTING)

How disgusting! A boche on the sole of my boot.

I shall have to find a patch of grass to wipe it on.

I'll probably get shunned in the officer's mess.

"Sorry about the pong, you fellows.

"I trod in a boche and can't get rid of the whiff."

Do you think we could dispense

with the hilarious doggie-doo metaphor for a moment?

I'm not a boche. This is a British trench.

Is it? Ah! That's a piece of luck.

Thought I'd landed sausage-side. Ha!

Mind if I use your phone?

If word gets out that I'm missing, 500 girls will kill themselves.

I wouldn't want them on my conscience,

not when they ought to be on my face! Ha!

Hi! Flasheart here. Yeah.

Cancel the state funeral, tell the king to stop blubbing.

Flash is not dead! I simply ran out of juice.

Yeah, and before all the girls start saying,

"Oh, what's the point in living any more?"

I'm talking about petrol! Woof! Woof!

Yeah, I dumped the kite on the proles so send a car.

Er, General Melchett's driver should do. She hangs around with the big knobs

so she'd be useful to a fellow like me. Woof! Woof!

Look, do you think you can make your obscene phone call somewhere else?

No, not in half an hour, you rubber-desk-johnny!

Send the bitch with the wheels right now or I'll fly back to England

and give your wife something to hang her towels on!

Okay, dig out your best booze and let's talk about me till the car comes.

Yeah, you must be pretty impressed,

having Squadron Commander The Lord Flasheart

drop in on your squalid bit of line.

Actually, no. I was more impressed by the contents of my handkerchief

the last time I blew my nose.

Yeah, like hell. (LAUGHING)

You've probably got little piccies of me

on the walls of your dug-out, haven't you?

I bet you go all girly and giggly every time you look at...

(SCREAMS) No, I'm afraid not.

Unfortunately, most of the infantry think you're a prat.

Ask them who they'd prefer to meet, Squadron Commander Flasheart

and the man who cleans out the public toilets in Aberdeen,

and they'd go for Wee Jock Poo-Pong McPlop every time.

(LAUGHING)

So, when that fellow looped the loop, I honestly thought that... (STAMMERING)

-My God! -Yes, I suppose I am.

Lord Flasheart, this is the greatest honour of my life.

I hope I snuff it right now, to preserve this moment forever.

It could be arranged.

Lord Flasheart, I want to learn to write

so I can send a letter home about this golden moment.

So, all the fellows hate me, eh?

Not a bit of it! I'm your bloody hero, eh, old scat?

Jesus!

My Lord, I've got every cigarette card they ever printed of you.

My whole family took up smoking Just so that we could get the whole set.

My grandmother smoked herself to death so we could afford the album.

Of course she did.

Of course she did, the poor love-crazed old octogenarian!

(LAUGHS)

Well, all right, you fellows!

Let's sit us down and yarn about how amazingly attractive I am.

Yes, would you excuse me for a moment. I've got some urgent business.

There's a bucket outside I've got to be sick into.

(SCORNFULLY) Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

All right, you chaps, let's get comfy.

You look a decent British bloke.

I'll park the old booties on you, if that's okay.

-It would be an honour, My Lord. -Of course it would, ha!

Ah... Any idea what it's like to have the wind rushing through your hair?

-No, sir. - (FARTING)

He has. Lucky devil!

So, I flew straight through her bedroom window,

popped the box of chocs on the dressing table,

machine-gunned my telephone number into the wall,

and then shot off and shagged her sister.

(SPLUTTERING)

Driver Parkhurst reporting for duty, My Lord.

Well, well, well, if it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst!

Saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory.

-I've come to pick you up. -Well, that's how I like my girls.

-Direct and to my point! Woof! -Woof!

BOTH: Mmm, mmm...

(BOTH MOANING)

-(GASPING) -Ah!

Tally ho, then, back to the bar!

You should join the Flying Corps, George.

That's the way to fight a war.

Tasty tuck, soft beds, and a uniform so smart,

it's got a PhD from Cambridge.

You could even bring the breath-monster, here.

Anyone can be a navigator if he can tell his arse from his elbow.

Well, that's Baldrick out, I fear.

We're always looking for talented types to join the 20-Minuters.

And there goes George.

Tally ho, then, Bobby! (GRUNTING)

Hush, here comes a whizz-bang,

and I think you know what I'm talking about.

-Woof! -Woof!

God, it's like Crufts in here.

I say, sir, what a splendid notion!

The 20-Minuters.

Soft tucker, tasty beds, fluffy uniforms!

Begging your permission, sir,

but why do they call them the 20-Minuters?

Ah! Now, yes... Now, this one is in my Brooke Bond Book of the Air.

Now, you have to, er, collect all the cards

and then stick them into this wonderful presentation booklet.

Er... Ah, here we are! 20-Minuters.

Oh, damn! I haven't got the card yet. Ah, but the caption says,

"Twenty minutes is the average amount of time new pilots spend in the air."

-Twenty minutes? -That's right, sir.

I had a 20-hour watch yesterday,

with four hours’ overtime, in two feet of water.

Well, then, for goodness sake, sir, why don't we join?

Yeah, be better than just sitting around here all day on our elbows.

No, thank you. No, thank you.

I've no desire to hang around with a bunch of upper-class delinquents,

do 20 minutes’ work,

and then spend the rest of the day loafing about in Paris,

drinking gallons of champagne,

and having dozens of moist, pink,

highly-experienced young French peasant girls

galloping up and down my...

Hang on...

-(KNOCKING ON DOOR) -Come!

-Ah, Captain Blackadder. -Good morning, Captain Darling.

(BLUNTLY) What do you want?

You're looking so well!

I'm a busy man, Blackadder. Let's hear it, whatever it is.

Well, you know, Darling,

-every man has a dream. -Hmm...

And when I was a small boy,

I used to watch the marsh warblers swooping in my mother's undercroft,

and I remembering thinking, "Will men ever dare do the same?"

And, you know...

Oh, you want to join the Royal Flying Corps?

Now that's a thought.

-Could I? -No, you couldn't. Goodbye.

Come on, Darling, Just give me an application form.

It's out of the question.

This is simply a ruse to waste five months of training,

after which you'll claim you can't fly after all,

because it makes your ears go "Pop!"

Come on, I wasn't born yesterday, Blackadder.

More's the pity, we could have started your personality from scratch.

So, the training period is five months, is it?

It's no concern of yours if it's five years

and comes with a free holiday in Tunisia, contraceptives supplied!

Besides, they wouldn't admit you.

It's not easy getting transfers, you know.

Oh, you've tried it yourself, have you?

No, I haven't!

Trust you to try and skive off to some cushy option.

There's nothing cushy about life in the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps.

Well, then the Bishop said,

"I'm awfully sorry, I didn't realise you meant organist."

(GEORGE AND MELCHETT LAUGHING)

Thank you, George. (CLEARS THROAT)

At ease, everybody. Now, where's my map? Come on!

-Sir. -Thank you.

God, it's a barren, featureless desert out there, isn't it?

It's the other side, sir.

Hello, George. What are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in to join the Royal Flying Corps.

Hello, Blackadder, what are you doing here?

Me, sir? I just popped in to join the Royal Flying Corps.

-And, of course, I said... -"Bravo," I hope, Darling.

Because, you know, I've always had my doubts

about you trenchy-type fellows.

Always suspected there might be

a bit too much of the battle-dodging, nappy-wearing,

"I'd rather have a cup of tea than charge stark naked at Jerry" about you.

If you're willing to join the 20-Minuters,

then you're all right by me

and welcome to marry my sister any day.

Are you sure about this, sir?

Certainly. You should hear the noise she makes when she eats a boiled egg!

Glad to get her out of the house.

So, report back here, 090@ hours, for your basic training.

Crikey, I'm looking forward to today!

Up-diddly-up, down-diddly-down. Whoops! Poop-twiddly-dee!

Decent scrap with the fiendish Red Baron,

a bit of the jolly old crash-landing behind enemy lines.

Capture, torture, escape, and then, back home in time for tea and medals.

George, who's using the family brain cell at the moment?

This is just the beginning of the training.

The beginning of five long months

of very clever, very dull men looking at machinery.

FLASHEART: Hey, girls, look at my machinery!

(GIRLS SCREAMING EXCITEDLY)

Enter the man who has no underwear. Ask me why.

ALL: Why do you have no underwear, Lord Flash?

Because the pants haven't been built yet that'll take the job on.

And that's the type of guy who's doing the training around here. Sit down!

Well, well, well, well, well, if it isn't old Captain Slack Bladder!

-Blackadder. -Couldn't resist it, eh, Slack Bladder?

Told you you thought I was great.

All right, men, let's do it!

The first thing to remember is always treat your kite

like you treat your woman.

How... How do you mean, sir? You mean, uh...

You mean, take her home at the weekend to meet your mother?

No, I mean get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back.

I begin to see why the suffragette movement want the vote.

Hey! Hey!

Any bird who wants to chain herself to my railings

and suffer a jet movement gets my vote!

Right, well, I'll see you in 10 minutes for take-off.

Hang on, hang on!

What about the months of training?

Hey, wet-pants, this isn't the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps!

You're in the 20-Minuters now!

-Er, sir, sir. -Yes, prat at the back?

(LAUGHING) I think we'd all be intrigued to know

why are you called the 20-Minuters?

Oh, Mr Thick-o! Imagine not knowing that!

Well, it's simple.

The average life expectancy for a new pilot is 20 minutes.

Ah!

Life expectancy... Of 20 minutes.

That's right! Goggles on, chocks away, last one back's a homo. Hooray!

ALL: Hooray!

So, we take off in 10 minutes,

we're in the air for 20 minutes.

Which means we should be dead by 25 to 10:00.

Hairy blighters, sir.

This is a bit of a turn-up for the plus-fours!

You shouldn't worry about it too much, Blackadder.

Flying's all about navigation.

As long as you've got a good navigator, I'm sure you'll be fine.

(SNICKERS)

(BLACKADDER AND BALDRICK HUMMING A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE)

BLACKADDER: Actually, they're right, this is a doddle.

BALDRICK: Careful, sir.

BLACKADDER: Whoops! Whoops! A little wobble there.

I'll get the hang of it, don't worry.

All right, Baldrick, how many rounds have we got?

BALDRICK: Er, 5QQ, sir. Cheese and tomato for you, rat for me.

GEORGE: I say! Tally bally ho!

-BALDRICK: What's this, sir? - (BLACKADDER SCREAMING)

BLACKADDER: Baldrick! Baldrick, will you stop arse-ing about

-and get back in the cockpit! - (BALDRICK WHOOPING)

BALDRICK: Eh, sir, look, I can see a pretty red plane from up here.

(BALDRICK WHOOPING)

(MEN SPEAKING GERMAN AND LAUGHING)

BLACKADDER: Oh, no! Watch out, Baldrick, it's still right on our tail!

Yes, now this is developing

into a distinctly boring situation.

-Lucky we're still on our side of the lines.

(BALDRICK SCREAMING)

BLACKADDER: I'll crash land and claim my ears went "Pop!" first time out.

BALDRICK: Oh, let's hope we fall on something soft!

BLACKADDER: Fine, I'll try and aim between General Melchett's ears.

(BALDRICK LAUGHING)

I don't believe it!

A German prison cell!

For two and a half years, the Western Front

has been as likely to move

as a Frenchman who lives next door to a brothel!

And last night, the Germans advance a mile and we land on the wrong side.

Oh, dear, Captain B, my tummy's gone all squirty.

That's because you're scared, Baldrick, and you're not the only one.

I couldn't be more petrified if a wild rhinoceros

had just come home from a hard day at the swamp

and found me wearing his pyjamas, smoking his cigars,

and in bed with his wife.

I've heard what these Germans will do, sir.

They'll have their wicked way with anything of woman born.

Well, in that case, Baldrick, you're quite safe.

However, the Teutonic reputation for brutality is well-founded.

Their operas last three or four days,

and they have no word for "fluffy."

I want my mum!

Yes, it would be good to see her.

I should imagine a maternally outraged gorilla could be a useful ally

when it comes to the final scrap.

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Prepare to die like a man, Baldrick.

Or as close as you can come to a man

without actually shaving the palms of your hands.

(IN GERMAN ACCENT) Good evening.

I'm Oberleutnant von Gerhardt.

I have a message from the Baron von Richtoven,

the greatest living German.

Hmm, which considering his competition consists entirely

of very fat men in leather shorts,

burping to the tune of She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain,

is no great achievement.

Quiet!

-And what is your message? -It is,

"Prepare for a fate worse than death, English flying fellow."

Well, so it's the traditional warm German welcome.

Hmm.

Also, he is saying,

"Do not try to escape, or you will suffer even worse."

A fate worse than a fate worse than death?

That's pretty bad!

It's just not possible.

Yes, well, you see, it's all very well for you, isn't it?

Sitting here behind your, behind your, behind your comfy desk!

Don't you take that tone with me, Lieutenant,

or I'll have you on a charge for insubordination!

Well, I'd rather be on a charge for insubordination

than on a charge of deserting a friend!

-How dare you talk to me like that! -How dare I?

Now then, now then, now, now then!

Now then, now then, then, now!

Now then, what's going on here?

That damn fool Blackadder has crashed his plane behind enemy lines, sir.

This young idiot wants to go and try and rescue him.

It's a total waste of men and equipment!

He's not a damn fool, sir.

-He's a bally hero! -All right!

All right, all right, all right.

I'll deal with this, Darling. Delicate touch needed, I sense it.

Now, George...

Do you remember when I came down to visit you

when you were a nipper, for your sixth birthday?

You used to have a lovely little rabbit.

Beautiful little thing, do you remember?

Flossie!

That's right, Flossie.

Do you remember what happened to Flossie?

You shot him.

That's right. It was the kindest thing to do

after he'd been run over by that car.

By your car, Sir.

Yes, by my car.

But that, too, was an act of mercy, when you'd remember that

that dog had been set on him.

-Your dog, sir. -Yes, yes, my dog.

But what I'm trying to say, George, is that the state young Flossie was in

after we'd scraped him off my front tyre,

is very much the state that young Blackadder will be in now.

If not very nearly dead, then very actually dead.

Permission for lip to wobble, sir.

Permission granted.

Stout fellow!

But surely, sir, you must allow me to at least try and save him.

No, George, it would be as pointless as trying to teach a woman

the value of a good forward defensive stroke.

Besides, it would take a superman to get him out of there,

not the kind of weed who blubs

just because somebody gives him a slice of rabbit pie instead of birthday cake.

-Oh, I suppose you're right, sir -Of course I am.

Now, let's talk about something more jolly, shall we?

Look, this is the amount of land we've recaptured since yesterday.

Oh, excellent.

Um, what is the actual scale of this map, Darling?

Um... One to one, sir.

-Come again? -Um...

The map is actually life-size, sir.

It's superbly detailed.

-Look, there's a little worm! -Oh, yes.

So, the actual amount of land retaken is...

Excuse me, sir.

Seventeen square feet, sir.

Excellent. So you see, young Blackadder didn't die horribly in vain, after all.

If he did die, sir.

- (SCOFFS) -That's the spirit, George!

If nothing else works, then a total pig-headed unwillingness

to look facts in the face will see us through.

(KEYS JINGLING)

(THICK GERMAN ACCENT) So, I am the Red Baron von Richtoven.

And you are the two English flying aces

responsible for the spilling of the precious German blood

of many of my finest

and my blondest friends.

I have waited many months to do this.

(SIGHING)

You may have been right, Balders.

Looks like we're going to get rogered to death after all.

Do you want me to go first, sir?

(LAUGHING LOUDLY)

You English and your sense of humour!

During your brief stay, I look forward to learning

more of your wit, your punning,

and your amusing jokes about the breaking of the wind.

Well, Baldrick's the expert there.

-I certainly am, sir. - (LAUGHING LOUDLY)

How lucky you English are to find the toilet so amusing!

For us, it's a mundane and functional item.

For you, the basis of an entire culture!

I must now tell you of the full horror of what awaits you.

Ah, you see, Balders, dress it up in any amount of pompous verbal diarrhoea,

and the message is, "Square-head's down for the big boche gang-bang!"

As an officer and a gentleman,

you will be looking forward to a quick and noble death.

-Well, obviously. -But instead,

an even worse fate awaits you.

Tomorrow, you will be taken back to Germany.

Here it comes!

To a convent school outside Heidelberg

where you will spend the rest of the war

teaching the young girls home economics.

-Er... -For you, as a man of honour,

the humiliation will be unbearable!

Oh, I think you'll find we're tougher than you imagine.

(SCOFFS) I can tell how much you are suffering by your long faces.

We're not suffering too much to say, "Thank you."

Thank you. Say thank you, Baldrick.

Thank you, Baldrick.

(LAUGHING LOUDLY) How amusing!

But now, forgive me.

I must take to the skies once again. Very funny. (LAUGHING)

The noble Lord Flasheart still eludes me.

Oh, I think you'll find he's over-rated.

Bad breath and...

Impotent, they say.

(LAUGHING) Sexual innuendo!

But enough of this. As you Say in England,

"I must fly."

(LAUGHS HEARTILY)

Perhaps, I will master this humour after all, ja?

I wouldn't be too optimistic.

And the little fellow...

If you get lonely in the night

I'm in the old chateau. There's no pressure.

Pratfall! (LAUGHING)

Is it really true, sir? Is the war really over for us?

Yup. Out of the war and teaching nuns how to boil eggs.

For us, the Great War is finito.

A war that would be a damn sight simpler

if we just stayed in England and shot 50,000 of our men a week.

No more mud, death, rats, bombs, shrapnel, whizz-bangs, barbed wire

and those bloody awful songs

that have the word "Whoops!" in the title.

Oh, damn, he's... He's left the door open!

Oh, good! We can escape, sir.

Are you mad, Baldrick? I'll find someone to lock it for us.

Shush! Keep-ee! Mum's the word! Not ‘arf, or what?

Sir, why did you just slam the door on Lt George?

I can't believe it. Go away!

-It's me, it's me! -Well, what the hell are you doing here?

Oh, never mind the Hows and Whys and the Do-You-Mind-If-I-Don'ts.

But it would take a superman to get in here!

Well, it's funny you should say that because, er,

as it happens, I did have some help from a rather spiffing bloke.

He's taken a break from some crucial, top-level shagging.

(DRAMATICALLY) It's me! Hooray! Hooray!

God's potatoes, George!

You said noble brother fliers were in the lurch.

If I'd known you meant old Slack Bladder

and the mound of the hound of the Baskervilles,

I'd probably have let them stew in their own juice!

And let me tell you, if I ever tried that,

I'd probably drown!

(BOTH LAUGHING)

(GRUNTING)

Still, since I'm here, I may as well do it,

as the Bishop said to the netball team, "Come on, chums!"

Ah... Ow... Argh...

-Come on! -Ah, yes, but look, I'm sorry, chaps,

but I've splintered my pancreas, and I seem to have this terrible cough.

(COUGHING) Guards! Guards!

Wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait a minute.

Now, I may be packing the kind of tackle that you'd normally expect to find

swinging about between the hind legs of a Grand National winner,

but I'm not totally stupid.

I've got the kind of feeling you'd rather we hadn't come.

No, no, no. I'm very grateful. It's just that I'd slow you up.

-I think I'm beginning to understand. -Are... Are you?

Hmm! Just because I can give multiple orgasms

to the furniture just by sitting,

doesn't mean I'm not sick of this damn war.

The blood, the noise, the endless poetry!

Is that really what you think, Flasheart?

Of course it's not what I think!

Now, get out that door before I redecorate that wall

in an interesting new colour called "hint of brain."

Excellent. Well, that's clear. Let's get back to that lovely war, then!

-BOTH: Woof! -Bark!

Not so fast, Blackadder.

Oh, damn! Foiled again. What bad luck!

Ah, and the Lord Flasheart.

This is indeed an honour!

Finally, the two greatest gentlemen fliers in the world meet.

Two men of honour,

who have jousted together in the cloud-strewn glory of the skies,

face to face at last.

How often I have rehearsed this moment of destiny in my dreams.

The valour we two encapsulate,

the unspoken nobility of our comradeship...

What a poof! Come on! Let's go!

Oh! Ow!

-Hello, Darling. -(SPLUTTERING) Good Lord!

Captain Blackadder, I thought you were...

-Playing tennis? -(STAMMERING) No...

-Dead? -Well, yes. Unfortunately...

Well, I had a lucky escape, no thanks to you.

This is a friend of mine.

-Argh! -Hi, creep!

Flasheart, this is Captain Darling.

Captain Darling? Funny name for a guy, isn't it?

The last person I called "darling" was pregnant 20 seconds later.

I hear you couldn't be bothered to help old Slackie, here.

(STAMMERING) Er, well, it wasn't quite that, sir.

It's just that we weighed out the pros and cons and decided

it wasn't a reasonable use

of our time and resources. (LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)

Well, this isn't a reasonable use of my time

and resources but I'm gonna do it anyway.

-What? -This!

Oh!

All right, Slackie. All right, Slackie, I've gotta fly.

Two million chicks, only one Flasheart.

Remember, if you want something, take it!

Bobby!

-My Lord? -I want something.

-Take it! -Woof!

Git!

-Ah, Blackadder, so you escaped! -Yes, sir.

Bravo! Don't slouch, Darling.

I was wondering whether, having been tortured

by the most vicious sadist of the German army,

I might be allowed a week's leave to recuperate, sir?

Excellent idea!

Your commanding officer would have to be stark raving mad to refuse you.

-Well, you are my commanding officer. -Well?

Can I have a week's leave, to recuperate, sir?

-Certainly not! -Thank you, sir.

(BLEATING)

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)