The Black Adder (1982–1983): Season 1, Episode 2 - Born to Be King - full transcript

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.

Edward.

My Lord...

- ..with the King gone...
- Hmm?

Of course!

At last, the chance
for some real power!

(Laughs fiendishly)

I want you scum
back to the castle by sundown

or you'll be slaughtered! Onward!



Come on! Come on!
(The sheep bleat)

Shut up! And you can keep quiet -
I've 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!
(Bleating)

You're not supposed to be here!
That's far enough. Get out!

If I could get my hands
on that bastard Harry!

(Harry)
Ah, Edmund!

Edmund!

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

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



We can celebrate
both events together.

I shall handle
the visiting royalty, of course,

and the papal legate,

and you can sort out the frolics.

The frolics?

Yes. The morris dancers,
eunuchs and the bearded women.

Traditional
St Leonard's Day entertainments.

Damnation! I won't have enough time
to attend to the drains. Edmund!

You'll have to look into those.

Er...yes...yes.
Fine, fine, I'd be honoured!

Good! You won't let me down?

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.

Then what?

(Both)
You'd rule the world, My Lord!

Precisely!

It's not fair, you know.

Every other woman
in the court has bastards,

but not my mother, oh, no.

She's so pure,
she daren't look down,

in case she notices
her own breasts.

You must be 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.

Used all night,
like the outside of a sausage roll.

Still, there's 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 hope they've got
the morris dancers - I love them.

Yes. I like the eunuchs.

Oh, yes!

The eunuchs!

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 one act,
and she's shaved her beard off.

There's the eunuchs.

Oh, yes - and the amazing
beardless woman. What a line-up!

Percy, there must be someone else!

The Jumping Jews of Jerusalem!

- What do they do?
- They jump, My Lord.

What?

They come in, My Lord,
and they jump.

A lot. It's a humorous 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 masterpiece
The Death Of The Pharaoh."

How funny!

I found it very moving.

It had better be funny,
or Prick gets his comeuppance!

Jerry Merryweather
and his four chickens?

What do they do? Lay eggs?

Yes, My Lord.

We'll have them.
(Knock at door)

What is it, My Lord?

- The eunuchs have cancelled.
- Oh, dear.

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

What shall we do?

I know. Baldrick,
give me an execution order.

I'm going to teach them a lesson.

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

- My Lord...
- Take that to the Lord Chancellor.

This is desperate!

We could have
the morris dancers, My Lord.

Now, look.
We are not that desperate.

Morris dancing
is the most fatuous entertainment

ever devised by man.
40 effeminate blacksmiths

waving a cloth
they've wiped their noses on!

How it's still going on,
I'll never know.

So...do you want them, or not?

Ah, Edmund.

And rest.

Splendid.
How are the rest coming along?

Very, very well indeed.

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

What? Greek?

Er... Yes, that's right,
a Greek look.

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

So many, 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...correct me
if I'm wrong, Lord Percy -

St Leonard himself was an eunuch.

Ye-e-e-s, that's right.

Well, I thought
it might be more tactful...

No, no.

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

leaving out morris dancers
or the bearded women!

Besides, Lord Dougal McAngus,
the supreme commander, is expected

and eunuchs
are his particular favourite.

He's Scottish, you see.

Ah.

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

So! Some carrot-faced,
thistle-arsed

Scottish orang-utan
wants a eunuch, does he?

- He's a great warrior.
- That's what they all say.

Barbarians! Half of them
can't even speak English.

- What do they speak?
- It's all Greek to me.

They speak Greek?

No. I mean it sounds like Greek.

Then it probably is.

It's not Greek.

But it sounds like Greek.

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

It's not a brain-teaser, Percy.

I mean, I cannot understand
a word they're saying.

You never learned Greek!

Percy...have you ever wondered
what your insides look like?

Sometimes, My Lord, yes.

I'd be willing to satisfy your
curiosity. Is that clear? Is it?

God, this Scotsman's
annoying me already.

I'm the Duke of Edinburgh!

Laird of Roxburgh,
Selkirk and Peebles.

I can make things difficult for him.

As for these entertainments...

Baldrick, you've got a beard.
Get yourself a nice dress.

Great, My Lord!

Percy, you'd better go
get Bernard the bear-baiter.

- Yes.
- Looks like we'll need him.

- 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.

(Fanfare)
What the devil...?

- Dougal McAngus!
- Oh, but of course!

Noble Prince of Wales,

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

Oh, sorry, 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?

He swore he'd be back
for St Leonard's - or die!

God forfend!
We will pray for his safe passage.

Join us. You must be starving.

- And young Lochinvar?
- And him, too.

Come on, Lochinvar!

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

- I am the Queen.
- I've got a message for ye.

- My father sends his regards.
- Do I know him?

I think you could say that.

He's Donald McAngus,
third Duke of Argyll.

Oh!

(Fanfare)
Ah, Edmund!

Edmund is providing
the entertainments.

Ah, the eunuch!

There's a groat for you.

(High-pitched voice)
I am not a eunuch.

- You sound like one.
- I am not a eunuch.

I am the Duke of Edinburgh.

- Oh, you are?
- Yes!

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

No offence.

I'm sorry - you're in my chair.

Don't apologise.

Now we know each other,
I have an announcement.

You're a eunuch as well??

McAngus, as reward
for your deeds in battle,

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

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

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

Grant me fair Selkirk
and the shire of Roxburgh.

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

Excuse me, 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. I'll have
Roxburgh and Selkirk.

That leaves Peebles!

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

Trying to say something?

Well, I don't know.
Some people might say,

"What an absurd idea,

"giving away half of Scotland
to a kilted maniac,

"for slaughtering
syphilitic Turks."

Au contraire, I say,

"Let's reward him."

Good, good. So be it.

Hurray!

I'm going to kill him - now!

- Who, My Lord?
- That Scottish weasel.

Why, My Lord?

Because he's
a thieving Scottish weasel.

- How?
- I'll 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.
- I have a more cunning one.

- Mine's pretty cunning.
- Not cunning enough.

- Depends on how cunning you mean.
- Damn cunning!

Mine's quite cunning.

Oh, all right,
let's hear what's so damn cunning!

You get him to come with you.

Oh, brilliantly cunning. I ask him
to come, then stab him, perhaps?

- How cunning!
- No, you get a cannon...

I see, and then get him to stick
his head in it and blow it off.

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

a wonderful idea...

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

entertainment.

(He laughs fiendishly)

Aaargh!

(Animal yelps)

(Soft footsteps)

Nnngaaargh!

Can I help ye?

Um, no. No, I'm fine, thank you.

Good.

I'm not in your way
over here, am I?

No.

Oh, there is just one thing.

I wondered if you could
do me a little favour.

Uh-huh?

I wondered if you would help
with the celebrations tonight.

How? By staying away?

(Laughs sheepishly, then screams)

Um... Well...

Thing is, we were hoping
to present a mystery play

by one of our
leading thespianic troupes

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

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

Well, I warn ye...

..I'm no actor.

There shouldn't be
much acting required.

It's an ancient Egyptian piece

called "The Death Of The Scotsman".

I'll have a crack at it.
(Animal yelps)

You could play the Scotsman,

if you like, who dies
at the end of the play.

Acting dead? That I can do.

Yes, well, as I say...

there may not be
much acting required.

(McAngus)
Mind the pit.

Woooorgh!

(Thump, boing, thump, boing)

Percy!

Tall trees! Let's see
those branches waving.

Taller, taller.

Now smaller! Small, small...

Have you made
the necessary changes?

Yes, My Lord.

- McAngus...
- Woooooh!

Meet your murderers.

- # Mi mi mi... #
- How did it go?

Not bad,

but 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's a Scotsman doing in Egypt?

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

See your mother there?

Apparently, my father
and your mother used to...

Don't be absurd. Such activities
are totally beyond my mother.

My father had to tell her
it was a cure for diarrhoea.

Don't you believe it. There are
some letters - they're hot stuff!

I tell you, they cast a wee doubt
over the parenthood of young Harry!

Don't be absurd!

What?

The bagpipe strums. Behold!

This way our victim comes.
For never...

- I'm on!
- Where are these letters?

Hidden away - I'll show you 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!

- Any moment!
- Carrot-faced orang-utan!

- Thieving Scots weasel!
- (Both) Death!

He knows too much!

That is why he must die!

No, he mustn't, he mustn't!
He has vital information.

I've changed my mind.
What am I going to do?

- Stop the show!
- How? How?

Just say "Stop".

What's our reason for stopping it?

The knives are real.
McAngus will die.

No, you bastard!

Stop!

Sorry I'm late.

Aaargh!

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

- When were these written?
- 1460.

The year my brother was born.

(He laughs fiendishly)
Baldrick! Get in here.

Tell everyone that the
entertainments have been cancelled.

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

- Why have they been cancelled?
- I see.

Tell them I have a very important
announcement to make.

(He laughs fiendishly)

- Do I have to take the dress off?
- Get out!

If you played your cards right,
you could become king.

Yes, one day.

Sooner, maybe. Your father
just charged into Constantinople

and they shut the gates on him.

- No?
- Yes!

10,000 Turks armed with scimitars,

and your father with a fruit knife.

Jerry Merryweather.

Another nail
in the coffin of variety.

I liked Bernard the rabbit-baiter.

Thank you.

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

I haven't seen a eunuch yet.

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, certain
rather extraordinary letters

concerning the lineage
of Prince Harry.

Letters? What is
so extraordinary about them?

Letters?

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

Your father being, of course,
Donald, third Duke of Argyll.

I beg your pardon?

These letters are intimate.
Let me give you an example.

"Arundel, Thursday.
My dear hairy-wairy,

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

"probing into affairs of state,

- "I long for you to probe..."
- Edmund!

Are you sure
you know what you're saying?

As sure as Mother was
when she wrote:

"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 about this?

What chance did I have?
I was 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 return.
- What?

Oh, dear.

When McAngus last saw him,

he was facing
half the Turkish army,

armed with
a small piece of cutlery.

So, Percy, if you'd start...

The King is dead.
Long live the King.

(All) The King is dead.
Long live the King.

- Probably dead.
- The King is probably dead.

(All) Long live the King.
The King is probably dead.

Long live the King. The King is...

(All) ..not dead.
Long live the King. Hurray!

Love! Death! War!

Rumpy-pumpy!

Brilliant!

McAngus!

My companion in blood
and most trusted friend!

You made it!

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 Donald,

the Gay Dog of the Glens.

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

"where you and your ruler
are the only ruler,

"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.

You!

Yo-o-ou bastard!

I think you're the bastard, Edmund.

Silence! I want an explanation!

My Liege...

the reason I have
gathered you all here today

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

who has clearly forged
these obviously fake letters.

Let me see!

No! I rip them up,

so no hint
of their filthy slander can remain!

You come, fresh from slaughtering
chocos when their backs were turned

and think you can upset
the harmony of a kingdom?

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

Um...yes, all right.

Excellent! After all,
it is St Leonard's Day -

there's meant to be
some entertainment!

Good, very good! Take your places.

(He mouths)

It's the old times again, McAngus.

Three Turks and the human kebab!

How could I ever forget!

Very well. Let the killing begin!

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

What's the hold-up?

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

Aha!

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

Hardly a man at all!

But...but...but...

my horse must be
worth 1,000 ducats.

I can sell my wardrobe,
pride of my life.

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

My servants I can live without -

except perhaps he who oils my rack.

And my most intimate treasures -

my collection
of antique cod-pieces,

my wigs for state occasions,

my wigs
for private occasions, and...

for humorous occasions.

My collection of pokers,

my grendle-stretchers,
my ornamental pomfreys

and of course, my autographed
miniature of Judas Iscariot.

(They all laugh)

That's not enough!

Ach, I'm only kidding!

Actually,
I'm quite interested in the wigs.

Never mind!

Ach! Hey!

Hope life doesn't become too dull,

not being able
to pass laws over Scotland.

(Laughs weakly)
I wouldn't pass water over Scotland!

(He mumbles)
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 it's a fascinating week ahead.

The Archbishop of York

wants you to join
his formation Italian dance class.

- I ought to give him an answer.
- Honest, or tactful??

Tactful.

- Tell him to get stuffed!
- Right.

Has that hooligan McAngus left?

Edmund's giving him
a last look round the castle.

While this...

- I'll be sorry if he goes.
- (McAngus) Interesting!

So will Edmund.
They've become firm friends.

- (Boom)
- The Turks?

The drains!

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

Oh, God! I'll get my plunger!

# The sound of hoofbeats
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 vole

# His pot is blacker
than his kettle

# Black Adder, Black Adder

# With many a cunning plan

# Black Adder, Black Adder

# You horrid little man! #