Black Adder III, Episode One
Amy and Amiability
E: Edmund Blackadder
B: Baldrick
PR: Prince Regent George
A: Miss Amy Hardwood
H: Mr. Hardwood
SC: Sally Cheapside
DC: The Duke of Cheapside
S: The Shadow
MM: Mrs. Miggins
The Palace Kitchens
-------------------
(Baldrick is plucking a goose. Blackadder is sitting at the kitchen
table.)
E: Oh God! Bills, bills, bills. One is born, one runs up bills, one dies!
And what have I got to show for it? Nothing. A butler's uniform and a
slightly effeminate hairdo! Honestly Baldrick, I sometimes feel like a
pelican - whichever way I turn, I've still got an enormous bill in
front of me. Pass the biscuit barrel. (Baldrick does so) Let's see
what's in the kitty shall we? (shakes out a few coins) Ninepence! Oh
God, what are we going to do?
B: Don't worry Mr B., I have a cunning plan to solve the problem.
E: Yes Baldrick, let us not forget that you tried to solve the problem
of your mother's low ceiling by cutting off her head.
B: 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.
E: 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. But besides which, I fail to see why a common
thief should be idolised, just because he has a horse between his legs.
B: My favourite's the Shadow. (Admiringly) What a man! They say he's
half-way to being the new Robin Hood.
E: Why only half-way?
B: 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.
(Baldrick holds up a poster which reads "Wanted for Hanging, The Shadow.
Reward...")
E: Baldrick, 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 Prince rings.)
E: Oop! The bank's open!
The Prince's Lounge
-------------------
E: Good morning sir. May I say how *immensely* rich you're looking?
Now, was there anything you wanted? Anything at all? Absolutely
anything?
PR: Well yes, old fellow, I was wondering if you could possibly lend me
a bit of cash.
E: But of course sir. I- cash?
PR: Yes, I'm rotten stinking stoning stinking broke!
E: But sir, what about the five thousand pounds that Parliament voted
you only last week to drink yourself to death with?
PR: All gone I'm afraid. You see, I've discovered this terrifically fun
new game. It's called "cards". What happens is, 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?
E: Vaguely sir, yes.
PR: All the chaps say I'm terrific at it.
E: I seem to remember I was very bad at it. I always seemed to end up
with more money than I started with.
PR: Yes, well, it's all down to practice. I'm a natural apparently. The
only drawback, of course, is that it's pretty damned expensive. So,
basically, I was wondering if you could lend me a couple of hundred.
E: 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.
PR: Well what am I going to do?
E: Yes, it's a difficult one.
PR: Hmm.
E: 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, sir, drastic
situations call for drastic measures. If you can't make money, you'll
have to marry it.
PR: 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...
E: Broke?
PR: Well, yes, I suppose so.
E: And don't forget, sir, that the modern Church smiles on roaring and
gorging within wedlock, and indeed rogering is keenly encouraged.
PR: And the puking?
E: Mmm, I believe still very much down to the conscience of the
individual church-goer.
PR: Well yes, 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...
E: And bonkers!
PR: That goes without saying!
The Kitchens
------------
(Blackadder is leafing through a book, while in the background Baldrick is
pulling the giblets out of his bird.)
E: Oh God!
B: Something wrong, Mr B.?
E: I can't find a single person suitable to marry the prince.
B: Oh please keep trying. I love a royal wedding. The excitement, the
crowds, the souvenir mugs, the worrying about whether the bride's
lost weight.
E: 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.
B: Well they sound ideal.
E: Well they would be if they hadn't all got married last week in
Munich to the same horse. Which leaves us with two.
B: And what about them?
E: Well, there's Grand Duchess Sophia of Turin. We'll never get her to
marry him.
B: Why not?
E: Because she's *met* him.
B: Which leaves?
E: Caroline of Brunswick as the only available princess in Europe.
B: And what's wrong with her?
E: "Get more coffee! It's horrid! Change it! Take me roughly from
behind! No, not like that, like this! Trousers off! Tackle out! Walk
the dog! Where's my presents?"
B: (flustered) All right! Which one do you want me to do first?
E: 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.
B: So you're stuck then.
E: Yes, I'm afraid I am. Unless, oh unless! Pass me the paper Baldrick
quick. (he opens the paper) Baldrick, why has half the front page been
cut out?
B: I don't know.
E: You do know, don't you?
B: Yes.
E: You've been cutting out the cuttings about the elusive Shadow to put
in your highwayman's scrapbook haven't you?
B: Oh, I can't help it Mr B. His life is so dark and shadowy and full
of fear and trepidation.
E: So is going to the toilet in the middle of the night, but you don't
keep a scrapbook on it.
B: (surprised) I do.
E: Let's see. Now let's see, society pages. You see, it needn't
necessarily be a princess. All the Prince wants is someone pretty and
rich.
B: Oh dear, that rules me out then.
E: 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 hasn't it! Aha. Listen to this, listen to this: "Mysterious
Northern beauty, Miss Amy Hardwood, comes to London and spends
flipping great wadges of cash!" That's our baby!
The Prince's Bedroom
--------------------
(Blackadder is brushing down the Prince's jacket.)
PR: 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 debagged and
radished for non-payment of debts.
E: Radished, sir?
PR: Yes, they pull your breeches down and push a large radish right up
your-
E: Yes, yes, yes, all right. There's no need to hammer it home.
PR: Well as a matter of fact they do often have to-
E: No, no! No! Your em, your money worries are, are, are over sir.
PR: Well hoorah for that!
E: I have found you a bride. Her name is Amy, daughter of the noted
industrialist, Mr Hardwood.
PR: Oh dammit Blackadder, you know I loathe industrialists. Sad,
balding, little proles in their "damn your eyes" whiskers. All puffed
up just because they know where to put the legs on a a pair of
trousers.
E: Eh, believe me, these people are the future. This man probably owns
half of Lancashire. His family's got more mills than, than you've got
brain cells.
PR: How many mills?
E: Seven sir.
PR: Quite a lot of mills then.
E: Yes. He has patented a machine called "The Ravelling Nancy".
PR: Mmm, what does it do?
E: It ravels cotton sir.
PR: What for?
E: 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.
PR: Well if she's gonna be my bird, she'd better be! Right, so what's
the plan?
E: Well I thought I could take her a short note expressing your
honourable intentions.
PR: Yes, yes, I think so too. All right then, well take this down. Eh,
"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. PS Woof woof!"
Well, what do you think?
E: It's very *moving* sir. Would you mind if I change just one tiny
aspect of it?
PR: Which one?
E: The words.
PR: Oh yes, I'll, I'll, I'll leave the details to you Blackadder. Just
make sure she knows I'm all man... with a bit of animal thrown in.
Rrrrgh!
E: Certainly sir. (Scores out the Prince's letter)
The Home of Amy Hardwood
------------------------
E: From his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to Miss Amy Hardwood:-
"The upturned tilt of you tiny wee nosy, smells as sweet as a great
big posy." Fanciful stuff of course madam, but, but from the heart.
A: He says my nosy is tiny ?
E: And wee, madam.
A: 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!
E: He continues. "Oh Lady Amy, queen of all your sex." I apologise for
the word, madam, but Prince George is a man of passion.
A: Oh, don't worry, I can get pretty cross myself sometimes. Tell me
Mr. Blackadder, 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?
E: Oh, 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.
A: 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?
E: (surprised) You want to meet him?
A: Well 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.
E: Certainly madam.
(Mr Hardwood enters.)
H: Ay up! Who's this big girl's blouse then ?
A: Father, this is Mr. Blackadder, he's come a-wooing from the Prince.
E: You have a beautiful and charming daughter, sir.
H: Indeed I do. I love her more than any pig, and that's saying summat!
E: It certainly is.
H: 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.
E: An attitude that does you credit sir.
H: I'd rather take off all my clothes and paint my bottom blue than
give her to a man who didn't love her!
E: What self-respecting father could do more ?
H: On the other hand, if he's a prince, he can have her for ten bob and
a pickled egg.
E: I can see where your daughter gets her ready wit, sir.
H: I thank you.
E: Although where she gets her good looks and charm is perhaps more of
a mystery.
H: No one ever made money out of good looks and charm.
E: You obviously haven't met Lady Hamilton, sir. (bows slightly and
leaves)
The Kitchens
------------
(Baldrick is forcing stuffing into his goose.)
E: 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.
B: Well, he is the Prince of Wales.
E: Have you ever been to Wales, Baldrick?
B: No, but I've often thought I'd like to.
E: 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
placenames. Never ask for directions in Wales Baldrick, you'll be
washing spit out of your hair for a fortnight.
B: So, eh, being Prince of it isn't considered a plus? (hammers a large
orange into the goose)
E: I fear not, no. But the crucial thing is that they must never be
left alone together before the marriage.
B: But isn't that a bit unfair on her?
E: Well 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? (hits
Baldrick around the back of the head)
Under Amy's Balcony
-------------------
(The Prince and Blackadder are hiding behind some bushes. They speak in
whispers.)
PR: All right, so what's the plan? Shin up the drain and ask her if
she'll take delivery of your consignment of German sausage?
E: No sir, as we rehearsed, poetry first, sausage later.
PR: Right. So what do you think? "Harold the Horny Hunter" should do
the trick.
E: Just remind me of it, sir?
PR: (loudly) "Harold the Horny hunter, had an enormous horn..."
E: Shh yes yes. It is absolutely excellent sir, however, might I
suggest an alternative? (hands the Prince a poem)
PR: "Lovely little dumpling, how in love I am. Let me be your
shepardkins, you can be my lamb." Well, I think we'll be very lucky if
she doesn't just come out onto the balcony and vomit over us, but
still, let's give it a whirl.
E: Just stand right here sir. Right. Call for her romantically.
PR: Right. (shouts) Oy! Come on out here, you rollicking trolloping
sauce bottle!
A: George?
PR: Woof woof!
(Amy appears on the balcony. Blackadder grabs the Prince, covering his mouth.)
A: Is that you?
E: Y-y-yes, yes 'tis I, your gorgeous little love bundle.
A: Oh George, I think you must be the snuggly wuggliest lambkin in the
whole of Toyland.
PR: Yuch! (Blackadder silences him again)
A: What was that?
E: Am, em. Nothing, there was just a little fly in my throaty. Yuch!
Yuchh!
A: Do you want a hanky-wanky to gob the phlegmy wemmy woo into? (she
leans over the balcony, pulling a handkerchief from the top of her
dress)
PR: Phwoah! Crikey!
A: Oh, what was that? Is there someone down there with you?
E: No, no, no, it was just the wind whistling through the trees and
making a noise that sounded like "phwoaaaah.. crikeeeeee".
A: Oh joy! Then come Prince Cuddlykitten, climb up my ivy.
PR: Sausage time! (strides forward)
A: There is someone down there with you!
E: Oh my God, yes, yes, so there is, a filthy intruder spying on our love.
A: Oh hit him George, hit him!
E: Very well. (whispers to the Prince) Would you mind screaming, Your
Highness. (loudly) Take that. (punches him in the face) And that!
(knees him in the groin) And that! (hits his back; the Prince falls to
the ground)
A: Oh, oh, oh you're so brave! And I'm so worn out with all the
excitement that I'd better go sleepy-bo-bos, otherwise I'll be all
cross in the morning. Nighty-night Georgy Porgy!
E: Nighty-wighty Amy-wamy. (she vanishes; to the Prince) 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.
PR: Was I?
E: Yes sir.
PR: But I'm in agony!
E: Well, that's love for you.
The Home of Amy Hardwood
------------------------
E: Sir, I come as emissary of the Prince of Wales with the most
splendid news. He wants your daughter Amy for his wife.
H: Well his wife can't have her! Outrageous, sir, to come here with
such a suggestion! (stands up angrily) Why, sir, or I shall take off
my belt and by thunder me trousers will fall down!
E: No sir. Sir, you misunderstand. He wants to marry your lovely
daughter.
H: Ah, ah. (falls back into his chair, amazed) Can it be possibly true?
Surely love has never crossed such boundaries of class? (clutches
Amy's hand)
A: But what about you and Mum?
H: Well yes, yes, 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.
A: And Aunty Dot and Uncle Ted.
H: Yes, yes alright, he was a pig poker and she was the Duchess of
Argyle, but-
A: And Aunty Ruth and Uncle Isiah, she was a milkmaid and he was-
H: The Pope! Yes, yes, all right. Don't argue. Suffice it to say if you
marry we need never be poor or hungry again. Sir, we accept.
E: Good. So obviously you'll be wanting an enormous cer-e-mon-y- what
did you say?
H: Well obviously, eh, now we're marrying quality, we'll never be poor
or hungry again.
E: Meaning that you're poor and hungry at the moment?
H: (with feeling) Oh yes! We've been living off lard butties for five
years now. I'm so poor I use my underpants for drying dishes.
E: So you're skint?
H: Aye.
E: Well in that case, the wedding's off. Good day.
A: Oh but what about Georgy's lovey-wovey poems that won my
hearty-wearty?
E: All writteny witteny by mewee I'm afraidy-waidy. Goodbye.
The Prince's Lounge
-------------------
E: Sir, you know I told you to go out and spend a lot of money on
wedding presents, well appar-
PR: (sitting amongst a huge collection of glittering objects) Yes?
E: Nothing.
The Kitchens
------------
(Blackadder enters, putting on a large black cape.)
E: Crisis Baldrick, crisis! No marriage, no money, more bills! For the
first time in my life I've decided to follow a suggestion of yours.
Saddle Prince George's horse.
B: Oh sir, you're not going to become a highwayman, are you?
E: No, I'm auditioning for the part of Arnold the Bat in Sheridon's new
comedy.
B: Oh, that's all right then.
E: Baldrick, have you no idea what irony is?
B: Yeah, it's like goldy and bronzy, only it's made of iron.
E: Never mind, never mind, just saddle the Prince's horse.
B: That'll be difficult, he wrapped it round that gas lamp in the
Strand last night.
E: Well saddle my horse then.
B: What d'you think you've been eating for the last two months?
E: Well go out into the street and hire me a horse.
B: 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 fifteenth week and the Dorset horse
fetishists fair tomorrow?
E: Right, well get this on then. (hands Baldrick a bridle and bit) It
looks as though you could do with the exercise.
Robbing the Cheapside Coach
---------------------------
SC: 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!
DC: Oh. (cheerily) Well, never mind.
E: (o (
geocities.com/televisioncity/8889) (
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