Blackadder III, Episode 6 - Duel and Duality

Black Adder III, Episode 6

Duel and Duality

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B:  Baldrick
E:  Edmund Blackadder
PR: Prince Regent George
MM: Mrs. Miggins
W:  The Duke of Wellington
MA: McAdder
S:  King's Servant
K:  King George III

The Palace Kitchens
-------------------

B:  Ooh! Mr. Blackadder.

E:  Leave me alone Baldrick. If I'd wanted to talk to a vegetable I'd
    have bought one at the market.

B:  Well don't you want this message?

E:  No thank you... God, I'm wasted here. It's no life for a man of
    noble blood being servant to a master with the intellect of a jugged
    walrus and all the social graces of a potty.

B:  I'm wasted too. I've been thinking of bettering myself.

E:  Oh, really? How?

B:  I applied for the job of village idiot of Kensington.

E:  Oh. Get anywhere?

B:  I got down to the last two, but I failed the final interview.

E:  Oh, what went wrong?

B:  I turned up. The other bloke was such an idiot he forgot to.

E:  Yes, well I'm afraid my ambitions stretch slightly further than
    professional idiocy in West London. I want to be remembered when I'm
    dead. I want books written about me. I want songs sung about me. And
    then hundreds of years from now I want episodes from my life to be
    played out weekly at half past nine by some great heroic actor of the
    age.

B:  Yeah, and I could be played by some tiny tit in a beard.

E:  Quite. Now, what's this message?

B:  I thought you didn't want it?

E:  Well I may do. It depends what it is.

B:  So you do want it?

E:  Well I don't know, do I? It depends what it is.

B:  Well, I can't tell you unless you want to know, and you said you
    didn't want to know, and now I'm so confused I don't know where I live
    or what my name is.

E:  Your name is of no importance and you live in the pipe in the
    upstairs water-closet. (looks at note) Oh God! Was the man who gave
    you this, by any chance, a red-headed lunatic with a kilt and a
    claymore?

B:  Yeah, and the funny thing was, he looked exactly like you.

E:  My mad cousin McAdder. The most dangerous man ever to wear a skirt
    in Europe.

B:  Yeah, he come in here playing the bag-pipes, then he made a haggis,
    sang Auld Lang Sayne and punched me in the face.

E:  Why?

B:  Because I called him a knock-kneed Scottish pillock.

E:  An unwise action, Baldrick, since Mad McAdder is a homicidal maniac.

B:  My mother told me to stand up to homicidal maniacs.

E:  Yes. If this is the same mother who confidently claimed that you
    were a tall handsome stallion of a man, I should treat her opinions
    with extreme caution.

B:  I love my mum.

E:  And I love chops and sauce but I don't seek their advice. I hate it
    when McAdder turns up. He's such a frog-eyed, beetle-browed
    basket-case.

B:  (in Blackadder's ear) He's the spitting image of you.

E:  No he's not. We're about as similar as two completely... dissimilar
    things in a pod. What's the old tartan throw-back banging on about
    this time? (reads) "Have come South for the rebellion." Oh God!
    Surprise, surprise... "Staying with Miggins. The time has come. Best
    sword and Scotland. Insurrection... Blood... Large bowl of porridge...
    Rightful claim to throne..." He's mad. He's mad. He's madder than Mad
    Jack McMad the winner of last year's Mr Madman competition.

(The Prince's bell rings.)

E:  Ah! The walrus awakes.

The Prince's Bedroom
--------------------

PR: Ah Blackadder. Notice anything unusual?

E:  Yes sir, it's 11:30 in the morning and you're moving about. Is the
    bed on fire?

PR: Well, I wouldn't know, I've been out *all night*. Guess what I've
    been doing? Wraaarrhhhh...

E:  Beagling, sir?

PR: Better even than that. Sink me Blackadder if I, if I haven't just
    had the most wonderful evening of my life.

E:  Tell me all sir.

PR: Well as you know when I set out I looked divine. At the party as I
    passed all eyes turned.

E:  And I daresay quite a few stomachs.

PR: Well that's right. And then these two ravishing beauties came up to
    me and whispered in my ear.. that they loved me. (licks his lips)

E:  And what happened after you woke up?

PR: Oh, (falls onto bed) this was no dream Blackadder. Five minutes
    later I was in a coach flying through the London night bound for the
    ladies' home.

E:  And which home is this? A home for the elderly or a home for the
    mentally disadvantaged?

PR: Oh no no no no no. This was Apseley House. Do you know it?

E:  Yes sir. It is the seat of the Duke of Wellington. Those ladies I
    fancy would be his nieces.

PR: Ooh, so you fancy them too? Well, I don't blame you. Bravo. I spent
    a night of ecstasy with a pair of Wellingtons and I loved it.

E:  Sir, it may interest you to know that the Iron Duke has always let
    it be known that he will kill in cold blood anyone who takes sexual
    advantage of any of his relatives.

PR: Yes, but Big-nose Wellington is in Spain fighting the French, he'll
    never know.

E:  On the contrary sir. Wellington triumphed six months ago.

PR: I'm dead.

E:  It would seem so sir.

PR: I haven't got a prayer, have I Blackadder?

E:  Against Throat-slasher Wellington? The finest blade His Majesty
    commands? Not really no.

PR: Then I shall flee. How's your French Blackadder?

E:  Parfait monsieur. But I fear France will be not far enough.

PR: Well how's your Mongolian?

E:  Mmm, chang hatang motzo motzo. But I fear Wellington is a close
    personal friend of the chief Mongol. They were at Eton together.

PR: I'm doomed. Doomed as the dodo.

(There is a knock on the door.)

PR: Oh my God, he's here, Wellington's here already!

(Baldrick enters with a letter.)

PR: Oh, Your Grace, forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing. I was a
    mad, mad, sexually over-active fool.

E:  Sir, it's Baldrick. You're perfectly safe.

PR: Well, hurrah!

E:  (reads letter) Ah, until 6 o'clock tonight.

PR: Hurrooh.

E:  "From the Supreme Commander, Allied Forces Europe. Sir, Prince or
    pauper, when a man soils a Wellington he puts his foot in it. P.S:
    This is not a joke. I do not find my name remotely funny, and people
    who do end up dead. Close bracket. I challenge you to a duel tonight
    at 18 hundred hours in which you will die. Yours with sincere
    apologies for your impending violent slaughter, Arthur Wellesey, Duke
    of Wellington."

B:  Sounds a nice polite sort of bloke.

PR: (cries) Ahh ah ahhh haaa haaawww.

E:  Oh, don't worry sir, please. Just consider that life is a valley of
    woe filled with pain, misery, hunger and despair.

PR: Well not for me it bloody isn't! As far as I'm concerned life is a
    big palace full of food, drink, and comfy sofas.

B:  May I speak, sir?

E:  Certainly not Baldrick! The Prince is about to die. The last thing
    he wants to do in his final moments is exchange pleasantries with a
    certified plum-duff.

PR: Easy Blackadder, let's hear him out.

E:  Very well Baldrick. We shall hear you out, then throw you out.

B:  Well, Your Majesty, I have a cunning plan which could get you out of
    this problem.

E:  Don't listen to him sir. It's a cruel proletarian trick to raise
    your hopes. I shall have him shot the moment he's finished clearing
    away your breakfast.

PR: No wait Blackadder. Perhaps this disgusting degraded creature is
    some sort of blessing in disguise.

E:  Well if he is, it's a very good disguise.

PR: After all, did not our Lord send a lowly earthworm to comfort Moses
    in his torment?

E:  (firmly) No.

PR: Well, it's the sort of thing he might have done. Well, come on Mr.
    Spotty, speak.

B:  Well, Your Majesty, I just thought - this Welliton bloke's been in
    Europe for years. You don't know what he looks like. He don't know
    what you looks like. So why don't you get someone else to fight the
    duel instead of you?

PR: But I'm the Prince Regent! My portrait hangs on every wall!

E:  Answer that, Baldrick.

B:  Well my cousin Bert Baldrick, Mr Gainsborough's butler's dogsbody,
    says that he's heard that all portraits look the same these days,
    'cause they're painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true
    depiction of the idiosycratic facial qualities of the person in
    question.

E:  (impressed) Your cousin Bert obviously has a larger vocabulary than
    you do, Baldrick.

PR: No, now, he's right damn him. Anybody could fight the duel and
    Wellers would never know.

E:  All the same sir, Baldrick's plan does seem to hinge on finding
    someone willing to commit suicide on your behalf.

PR: Oh yes yes yes, but he would be fabulously rewarded. Money, titles,
    castles..

E:  A coffin, erm...

B:  That's right, I thought maybe Mr. Blackadder himself would fancy the
    job.

PR: What a splendid idea!

E:  Excuse me Your Highness. Trouble with the staff.

(Baldrick and Blackadder leave the room. Blackadder grabs Baldrick by the
lapels.)

E:  Baldrick, does it have to be this way? Our valued friendship ending
    with me cutting you into long strips and telling the Prince that you
    walked over a very sharp cattlegrid in an extremely heavy hat?

B:  Mr. Blackadder, you was only just saying in the kitchen how you
    wanted to rise again - now here the Prince is offering you the lot.

E:  But, tiny tiny brain, the Iron Duke will kill me. To even think
    about taking him on you'd have to be some kind of homicidal maniac who
    was fantastically good at fighting, like McAdder, like McAdder...
    (excited) Like McAdder could fight the duel for me!

(Blackadder re-enters the Prince's bedroom.)

E:  (calmly) My apologies sir. I was just having a word with my
    insurance people. Obviously I would be delighted to die on your
    behalf.

PR: God's toenails Blackadder, I'm most damnably grateful. You won't
    regret this you know.

E:  Well that's excellent. There's just one point though sir, re: the
    suicide policy. There's an unusual clause which states that the policy
    holder must wear a big red wig and affect a Scottish accent in the
    combat zone.

PR: Small print eh? Huh.

Mrs Miggins' Coffee Shop
------------------------

(Disarray. Flecks of porridge everywhere. Mrs. Miggins is sitting on a
table leaning back on the counter.)

E:  Ah, Mrs. Miggins. Am I to gather from your look of pie-eyed
    exhaustion and the globules of porridge hanging off the walls that my
    cousin McAdder has presented his credentials?

MM: Oh yes indeed sir. You've just missed him.

E:  I trust he has been practising with his claymore.

MM: Oooooh, I should say so! I'm as weary as a dog with no legs that's
    just climbed Ben Nevis.

E:  A claymore is a sword, Mrs. Miggins.

MM: See this intricate wood carving of the infant Samuel at prayer? He
    whittled that with the tip of his mighty weapon with his eyes closed.

E:  Yes, exquisite.

MM: He bid me bite on a plank, there was a whirlwind of steel, and
    within a minute three men lay dead and I had a lovely new set of
    gnashers. (grins woodenly)

E:  Really. Just tell him to meet me here at 5 o'clock, will you? To
    discuss an extremely cunning plan. If all goes well by tomorrow the
    clan of McAdder will be marching back the high road back to glory.

MM: Ooh lovely. I'll do you a nice packed lunch.

The Prince's Quarters
---------------------

(Blackadder enters, looks for the Prince in the lounge and walks through
into the bedroom.)

E:  Good news, Your Majesty. This evening I will carve the Duke into an
    attractive piece of furniture with some excellent dental work. Your
    Highness? Your Highness!

(The bedroom door swings closed revealing the Prince hiding behind it,
his fingers in his ears.)

PR: Ooohh! Oh, thank God it's you Blackadder. I've had just word from
    Wellington, he's on his way here now.

E:  Ah, that's awkward. The Duke must believe from the very start that I
    am you.

PR: Hmm, well, hmm, any ideas?

E:  There's no alternative, we must swap clothes. (starts to take off
    his jacket)

PR: Oh fantastic, yes, dressing up. I love it. It's just like that
    story, ah, "The Prince And The Porpoise".

E:  "..and the Pauper" sir.

PR: Oh yes! Yes yes yes, "The Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper".

(They exchange clothes and wigs.)

PR: Excellent, excellent. Why, my own father wouldn't recognise me.

E:  Your own father never can. He's mad.

PR: Oh yes, yes.

(They walk through into the lounge.)

E:  Unfortunately, sir, you do realise that I shall have to treat you
    like a servant?

PR: Oh, I think I can cope with that, thank you, Blackadder.

E:  And you will have to get used to calling me "Your Highness", Your
    Highness.

PR: "Your Highness, Your Highness."

E:  No, just "Your Highness", Your Highness.

PR: That's what I said, "Your Highness, Your Highness", Your Highness,
    Your Highness.

E:  Yes, let's just leave that for now, shall we? Complicated stuff
    obviously.

(Baldrick enters.)

B:  Big Nose is here... But what?.. Who?.. Where?.. How?..

E:  Don't even try to work it out Baldrick. Two people you know well
    have exchanged coats and now you don't know which is which.

PR: I must say I'm pretty confused myself! Which one of us is
    Wellington?

E:  (exasperated) Wellington is the man at the door.

PR: Oh. And the porpoise?

E:  Hasn't arrived yet sir. We'll just have to fill in as best we can
    without it. Sir, if you would let the Duke in.

PR: Certainly, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

E:  And you'd better get out too, Baldrick.

B:  Yes, Your Highness, Your Highness. (leaves)

E:  Oh God! If only they had a brain cell between them.

(The Prince ushers in Wellington.)

PR: The Duke of Wellington!

W:  Have I the honour of addressing the Prince Regent, sir?

E:  You do.

W:  Hmm, congratulations, Highness, your bearing is far nobler than I'd
    been informed... (to the Prince) Take my hat at once, sir, unless you
    want to feel my boot in your throat! And be quicker about it than you
    were with the door.

PR: Yes, my lord.

W:  I'm a Duke not a Lord! (clouts the Prince) Where were you trained,
    the Dago dancing class? Shall I have my people thrash him for you,
    Highness?

(The Prince signals "No" from behind Wellington.)

E:  Errm.. No, he's very new. At the moment I'm sparing the rod.

W:  Ah! Fatal error. Give them an inch and before you know it they've
    got a foot, much more than that and you don't have a leg to stand on.
    Get out! (Clouts the Prince). Now sir, to business. I am informed that
    your royal father grows ever more eccentric and at present believes
    himself to be (reads) "a small village in Lincolnshire, commanding
    spectacular views of the Nene valley." I therefore pass on my full
    account of the war on to you, the Prince of Wales. (hands Blackadder a
    saddle-bag)

E:  Ah that's excellent. Thank you. (feels in bag, takes out a note) "We
    won, signed Wellington." Well, that seems to sum it up very well. Was
    there anything else?

W:  Two other trifling things Highness.. The men had a whip-round and
    got you this. Well, what I mean is I had the men roundly whipped until
    they got you this. It's a cigarillo case engraved with the regimental
    crest of two crossed dead Frenchmen, emblazoned on a mound of dead
    Frenchmen motif.

E:  Thank you very much. And the other trifling thing?

W:  Your impending death, Highness.

E:  Oh yes, of course, mind like a sieve.

W:  Mmm, I can not deny I'm looking forward to it. Britain has the
    finest trade, the finest armies, the finest navies in the world. And
    what do we have for royalty? A mad Kraut sausage sucker and a son who
    can't keep his own sausage to himself. The sooner you're dead the
    better.

E:  You're very kind.

W:  Now, you're no doubt anxious to catch up with the news of the war. I
    have here the most recent briefs from my general in the field...

E:  Yes, well if you would just like to pop them in the laundry basket
    on the way out. Tea?

W:  Yes, immediately.

(Blackadder rings the bell.)

W:  Now, let's turn to the second front, my lord. (unfolds a map on the
    table)

E:  Ah yes. (inspects map) Now, as I understand it Napoleon is in North
    Africa. And Nelson is stationed in...

W:  Alaska. In case Bony should try to trick us by coming via the North
    Pole.

E:  Yes... Perhaps a preferable stratagem, Your Grace, might be to harry
    him amid-ships as he leaves the Mediterranean. Trafalgar might be
    quite a good spot...

W:  Trafalgar? Well, I'll mention it to Nelson. I must say I'm beginning
    to regret the necessity of killing you, Your Highness. I'd been told
    by everybody that the Prince was a confounded moron.

E:  Oh, no no no no no.

(The Prince enters with the tea-tray.)

W:  Oh hell and buckshot! It's that tiresome servant of yours again.

PR: Ooh, budge up, budge up. (sits down next to Blackadder)

W:  How dare you, sir, sit in the presence of your betters! Get up!

PR: Oh yes, cripes. I forgot.

W:  You speak when you're spoken to. Unless you want to be flayed across
    a gun carriage. Well? (hits the Prince)

E:  Sir, sir, I fear you have been too long a soldier. We no longer
    treat servants that way in London society.

W:  Why, I hardly touched the man!

E:  Aah, I think you hit him very hard.

W:  Nonsense ,a hard hit would be like that! (hits the Prince, hard) I
    only hit him like that. (once more hits him)

E:  No sir, a soft hit would be like this. (hits the Prince) Whereas you
    hit him like this. (and again, hard)

PR: (gets back to his feet) Please, um, I wonder if I might be excused,
    Your Highness, Your Highness.

E:  Certainly. (Aside) I'm sorry about that, sir, but one has to keep up
    the pretence.

PR: No, no. I quite understand. You carry on the good work.

E:  Very well sir. (once more hits him)

W:  Hang on, this is bloody coffee! I ordered tea! (grabs the Prince by
    the ear and drags him back to the table) You really are a confounded
    fool. Aren't you? I'd heard everywhere that the Prince was an imbecile
    whereas his servant Blackadder was respected about town. Now that I
    discover the truth I'm inclined to beat you to death. TEA!! (kicks the
    Prince out of the door)

E:  Tell me, do you ever stop bullying and shouting at the lower orders?

W:  NEVER! There's only one way to win a campaign: shout, shout and shout
    again.

E:  You don't think then that inspired leadership and tactical ability
    have anything to do with it?

W:  NO! It's all down to shouting. WAAGGHH!

E:  I hear that conditions in your army are appalling.

W:  Well I'm sorry, but those are my conditions and you'll just have to
    accept them. That is until this evening when I shall kill you.

E:  Hmm, who knows, maybe I shall kill you.

W:  Dyaa. Nonsense. I've never been so much as scratched, my skin is as
    smooth as a baby's bottom. Which is more than you can say for my
    bottom.

E:  Yes. One point, sir. I should, perhaps, warn you that while duelling
    I tend to put on my lucky wig and regimental accent.

W:  That won't help you. It would take a homicidal maniac in a claymore
    and a kilt to get the better of me!

E:  Well that's handy.

The Kitchens
------------

PR: I tell you Baldrick, I'm not leaving the kitchen until that man is
    out of the house.

(There is a knock on the door and the bell rings.)

B:  It's all right, Your Majesty, don't worry, I'll deal with this.

(The Prince hides behind the scullery door.)

MM: Ah hello Baldrick. I've brought your buns. Where's Mr. Blackadder?
    Oh, not upstairs still, running around after that port-swilling,
    tadpole-brained smelly-boots?

B:  (carefully) I don't know who you mean.

MM: Prince George, Baldrick. His boots smell so bad a man would need to
    have his nose amputated before taking them off. Well, that's what Mr.
    Blackadder says.

B:  As a joke.

MM: Didn't you write a little poem about him last week?

B:  No I didn't.

MM: Ooh you did:
        In the Winter it's cool,
        In the Summer it's hot,
        But all the year round,
        Prince George is a clot. (laughs)

B:  A lovely. I said Prince George is a lovely.

MM: Oh well. I'd better be off anyway. Tell Mr. Blackadder to expect
    Mr. McAdder at five o'clock. Just as soon as that fat Prussian truffle
    pig has got his snout wedged into a bucket of tea-cakes. (makes
    grunting noises)

B:  (calls after her) I think it must be next door you're wanting,
    strange woman who I've never seen before Mrs. Miggins.

PR: (sharply) Baldrick!

B:  Yes, Your Highness?

PR: Is it true? Did you really write a poem about how lovely I am?

B:  (fondly) Yes, and Mr. Blackadder loves you too. (smiles sweetly)

PR: Well I must say. I find that very touching. I do.

(The bell rings again.)

PR: I wish they wouldn't keep on doing that.

The Prince's Lounge
-------------------

W:  Well goodbye sir. And may the best man win. I.e. me.

PR: Your tea, sir.

W:  You're late! Where the hell have you been for it, India? (hits him)

E:  Or Ceylon? (also hits the Prince)

W:  Or China? (kicks the Prince, who falls down onto the coffee-table)
    And don't bother to show me the way out. I don't want to die of old
    age before I get to the front door.

Mrs. Miggins' Coffee Shop
-------------------------

(Blackadder enters, dressed in his normal clothes.)

E:  Ah! Miggins. So where's McAdder? I thought he was going to be here
    at five o'clock.

MM: Yes, I'm sorry. He's just popped out. You look ever so similar to
    each other you know, it's quite eerie.

E:  (annoyed) Look, did you tell him to be here or not?

MM: I did, you just keep missing each other. I can't imagine why.

MA: (enters) I'll tell you why. It's because there's no coffee shop in
    England big enough for two Blackadders.

E:  Ah! Good day, cousin McAdder. I trust you are well.

MA: Aye, well enough.

E:  And Morag?

MA: She bides fine.

E:  And how stands that mighty army, the clan McAdder?

MA: They're both well.

E:  I always thought that Jamie and Angus were such fine boys.

MA: Angus is a girl. So tell me cousin, I hear you have a cunning plan.

E:  I do, I do. I want you to take the place of the Prince Regent and
    kill the Duke of Wellington in a duel.

MA: Aye, and what's in it for me?

E:  Enough cash to buy the Outer Hebrides. What do you think?

MA: Fourteen shillings and six-pence? Well, it's tempting. But I've got
    an even better plan. Why don't I pretend to be the Duke of Wellington
    and kill the Prince of Wales in a duel? Then I could kill the King and
    be crowned with the ancient stone bonnet of McAdder.

MM: And I shall wear the granite gown and limestone bodice of MacMiggins,
    Queen of all the herds.

E:  Look, for God's sake, McAdder, you're not Rob Roy. You're a top kipper
    salesman with a reputable firm of Aberdeen fishmongers. Don't throw it
    all away. If you kill the Prince they'll just send the bailiffs round
    and arrest you.

MA: Oh blast, I forgot the bailiffs.

E:  So we can return to the original plan then?

MA: No, I'm not interested. I'd rather go to bed with the Loch Lomond
    monster. And besides I have to be back in the office on Friday. I
    promised Mr. McNaulty I'd shift a particularly difficult bloater for
    him. Forget the whole thing. I'm off home with Miggsy.

MM: Yes, yes. Show me the glen where the kipper roams free. And forget
    Morag forever.

MA: No, never. Oh, I must do right by Morag. We must return to Scotland
    and you must fight in the old Highland way - bare breasted and each
    carrying an eight pound baby.

MM: Oh, yes, yes. I love babies. (kisses McAdder)

MA: You're a woman of spirit! I look forward to burying you in the old
    Highland manner. Farewell Blackadder, you spineless goon! (they leave)

E:  Oh God! Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.

The Prince's Lounge
-------------------

(Blackadder enters, dressed as the Prince.)

PR: Ah, Blackadder. It has been a wild afternoon full of strange omens.
    I dreamt that a large eagle circled the room three times and then got
    into bed with me and took all the blankets. And then I saw that it
    wasn't an eagle at all but a large black snake. Also Duncan's horses
    did turn and eat each other. As usual. Good portents for your duel, do
    you think?

E:  Not very good sir. I'm afraid the duel is off.

PR: OFF?

E:  As in "sod". I'm not doing it.

PR: By thunder, here's a pretty game. You will stay, sir, and do duty
    by your Prince. Or I shall...

E:  Or what? You port-brained twerp. I've looked after all my life. Even
    when we were babies I had to show which bit of your mother was serving
    the drinks.

PR: (kneels) Please please. You've got to help me. I don't want to die.
    I've got so much to give. I want more time.

E:  A poignant plea sir. Enough to melt the stoniest of hearts. But the
    answer, I'm afraid, must remain: "You're going to die, fat pig."

PR: Oh, wait, wait, wait. I'll give you everything.

E:  Everything?

PR: Everything.

E:  The money, the castles,the jewellery?

PR: Yes.

E:  The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of French
    lithographs?

PR: Everything.

E:  The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his
    trousers every half hour?

PR: Yes, yes, alright.

E:  Very well, I accept. A man may fight for many things: his country,
    his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a
    golden child. But personally I'd mud wrestle my own mother for a ton
    of cash, an amusing clock, and a sack of French porn. You're on.

PR: Hurrah!

The Duel
--------

E:  Right Baldrick, now here's the plan. When he offers me the swords, I
    kick him in the nuts and you set fire to the building. In the
    confusion we claim a draw.

B:  Yes.

W:  Ah, Your Highness. Let's be about our business.

E:  Now don't forget Baldrick. You (motions the striking of a match)
    when I (raises knee).

W:  Come sir. Choose your stoker.

(Wellington holds out a case containing two pink, fluffy cannon stokers.)

E:  What, are we going to tickle each other to death?

W:  No sir. We fight with cannon.

E:  But I thought we were fighting with swords.

W:  Swords! What do you think this is, the middle ages? Only girls fight
    with swords these days. Stand by your gun sir. Hup two three. Hup two
    three.

E:  Wait a minute, what the...

W:  Stand by cannon for loading procedure... Stoke. Muzzle. Wrench.
    (Carries on in this way while Blackadder is talking) Crank the storm
    barrel. Pull tee bar.

E:  "Congratulations on choosing the Armstrong Whitworth four-pounder
    cannonette. Please read the instructions carefully and it should give
    years of trouble free maiming."

W:  Check elevation. Chart trajectory. Prime fuse. Aim...

E:  Look, wait a minute.

W:  FIRE!

(The cannon fires. Blackadder drops to the ground. Mournful music strikes
up.)

B:  Mr. B., Mr. B.! Sir, please help me get his coat off.

E:  Leave it Baldrick. It doesn't matter.

B:  Yes it does. Blood's hell to shift. I want to get it in to soak.

W:  You die like a man sir. In combat.

E:  You think so? Dammit, we must build a better world. When will the
    killing end?

W:  You don't think I too dream of peace? You don't think that I too
    yearn to end this damn dirty job we call soldiering?

E:  Frankly, no. My final wish on this Earth is that Baldrick be sold,
    to provide funds for a Blackadder foundation to promote peace, and to
    do research into the possibility of an automatic machine for cleaning
    shoes. And so I charge... (slumps back)

W:  His Highness is dead.

E:  (the music scratches to a halt) Actually, I'm not sure I am.
    Fortunately that cigarillo box you gave me was placed exactly at the
    point where the cannon-ball struck. (produces a very dented case). I
    always said smoking was good for you.

W:  Ah ha ha. Honour is satisfied. God clearly preserves you for
    greatness. His Highness is saved. Hurrah.

PR: (enters) Umm, no actually it's me, I'm His Highness. Well done
    Bladders, glad you made it.

W:  What in the name of Bonapartes balls is this fellow doing now?

PR: Ahh, no no, I really am His Highness. It was all just larks, and
    darn fine larks at that I thought.

W:  I have never, in all my campaigns, encountered such insolence! Your
    master survives an honourable duel and you cheek him like a French
    whoopsy! I can contain myself no longer! (draws his pistol and shoots
    the Prince)

PR: I die. I hope men will say of me that I did duty by my country.

E:  I think that's pretty unlikely sir. If I was you I'd try for
    something a bit more realistic.

PR: Like what?

E:  That you hope men will think of you.. as a bit of a thicky.

PR: All right, I'll hope that then. Toodle-oo everyone. Let you know
    and all that. (dies)

(Horns sound.)

S:  Here for His Majesty, The King of England.

K:  Someone told me my son was here. I wish him to marry this rose bush.
    I want to make the wedding arrangements.

E:  (thinking quickly) Here I am, Daddy. This is the Iron Duke,
    Wellington, commander of all your armed forces.

K:  Yes I recognised the enormous conk. Ha ha ha.

W:  He's a hero. A man of wit and discretion.

K:  Bravo. You know, my son, for the first time in my life I have a real
    fatherly feeling about you. People may say I'm stark raving mad and
    say the word Penguin after each sentence, but I believe that we two
    can make Britain Great - you as the Prince Regent and I as King
    Penguin.

E:  Well, let's hope eh? Wellington, will you come and dine with us at
    the palace? My family have a lot to thank you for.

W:  Dyahh, with great pleasure. Your father may be as mad as a balloon,
    but I think you have the makings of a great king.

K:  Ah, wunderbar er hoff seiht. Ja.

E:  Oh and Baldrick? Clear away that dead butler will you.

(The King, Blackadder and Wellington exit leaving Baldrick cradling the
Prince's head)

B:  (looks up) There's a new star in heaven tonight... A new freckle on
    the nose of the giant pixie.

PR: Erm! No, actually Baldrick, I'm not dead. You see I had a cigarillo
    box too, look. (rummages in his jacket) Oh damn, I must have left it
    on the dresser... (dies)

                                 For the
                        BENEFIT of SEVERAL VIEWERS
                         MR. CURTIS & MR. ELTON'S
                            Much admir'd Comedy
                           B L A C K   A D D E R
                             T h e   T H I R D
                                    OR
                              DUEL and DUALITY
             was performed with appropriate Scenery Dresses etc.
                                    by
                             EDMUND BLACKADDER,
                           butler to the Prince,
                            Mr. ROWAN ATKINSON
                   Baldrick, a dogsbody, Mr. TONY ROBINSON
              The Prince Regent, their master, Mr. HUGH LAURIE
                     Mrs. Miggins, a coffee shoppekeeper,
                          Miss. HELEN ATKINSON-WOOD
                  The Duke of Wellington, a famous soldier,
                               Mr. STEPHEN FRY
                       King George III, a Mad Monarch,
                             Mr. GERTAN KLAUBER

             MUSIC (never perform'd before), Mr. HOWARD GOODALL

                 designer of graphics, Mr. GRAHAM McCALLUM
                    buyer of properties, Miss. JUDY FARR
            supervisor of production operatives, Mr. ALLAN FLOOD
               designer of visual effects, Mr. STUART MURDOCH
                 designer of costumes, Miss. ANNIE HARDINGE
                  designer of make-up, Miss. VICKY POCOCK
                     mixer of vision, Miss. SUE COLLINS
                    supervisor of cameras, Mr. RON GREEN
                  editor of videotape, Mr. CHRIS WADSWORTH
                   director of lighting, Mr. RON BRISTOW
             co-ordinator of technicalities, Mr. RICHARD WILSON
                  supervisor of sound, Mr. PETER BARVILLE
               assistant to production, Miss. NIKKI COCKCROFT
               assistant manager of floors, Mr. DUNCAN COOPER
                  manager of production, Miss. OLIVIA HILL
                      the designer, Mr. ANTONY THORPE
                    the director, Miss. MANDIE FLETCHER

                          the producer, Mr. LLOYD

                To conclude with Rule Britannia in full chorus
                             NO MONEY RETURN'D
                            (C) BBC  MCMLXXXVII