Lord Flashheart:
She's got a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils.
Lord Melchett:
Gray, I suspect, your Majesty.
Queen Elizabeth I:
I think you'll find they were orange, Lord Melchett.
Lord Melchett:
Gray is more usual, Ma'am.
Queen Elizabeth I:
Who's Queen?
Lord Melchett:
As you say, Majesty. There were these magnificent orange elephants...
Lord Percy Percy:
I'd like to meet the Spaniard who can make his way past me.
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
Well, go to Spain; there are millions of them
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
Aah, and who is Jane?
Lord Percy Percy:
I'm sworn to secrecy. Torture me, kill me, you shall never know.
[
Blackadder kicks him in the gonads]
Lord Percy Percy:
Ooh, ouch... Jane Herrington. We're very much in love, my lord.
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
This is *the* Jane Herrington?
Lord Percy Percy:
Yes.
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
Jane "bury-me-in-a-Y-shaped-coffin" Herrington.
Lord Percy Percy:
I... , I think maybe there are two Jane Herringtons.
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
No... Tall, blond, elegant?
Lord Percy Percy:
Right, that's right.
Lord Edmund Blackadder:
Goes like a privy door when the plague comes down?
Lord Flasheart:
Ah, Melchett. Still worshipping God? Last I heard... He'd started worshipping me.
Lord Flasheart:
Nursie. I like it firm and fruity. Am I pleased to see you or did I just put a canoe in my pocket? Down, boy, down.
Lord Flasheart:
I've got a plan, and it's as hot as my pants.
Doctor Leech:
It isn't every day a man wakes up to discover he's a screaming bender with no more right to live on God's clean Earth than a weasel. Ashamed of yourself?
Blackadder:
Not really, no.
Doctor Leech:
Bloody Hell. I would be. Still, why should I complain. Just leaves more rampant totty for us real men, eh?
Blackadder:
Look, am I paying for this abuse or is it extra?
Doctor Leech:
No, no, it's all part of the service.
Lord Flasheart:
She's got a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils.
Blackadder:
I seek information about a Wisewoman.
Young Crone:
Ah, the Wisewoman... the Wisewoman.
Blackadder:
Yes, the Wisewoman.
Young Crone:
Two things, my lord, must thee know of the Wisewoman. First, she is... a woman. And second, she is...
Blackadder:
Wise?
Young Crone:
You do know her then?
Blackadder:
No, just a wild stab in the dark which is, incidentally, what you'll be getting if you don't start being a bit more helpful. Do you know where she lives?
Young Crone:
Of course.
Blackadder:
Where?
Young Crone:
Here. Do you have an appointment?
Blackadder:
No.
Young Crone:
Well, you can go in anyway.
Blackadder:
Thank you young crone. Here is a purse of moneys... which I'm not going to give to you.
Lord Flasheart:
Woof!
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