Bob: I'm an honest hard working lad, but poor and I must support my father who is stark raving mad. Therefore I come to London to seek aservants wage.

Edmund: Yes, indeed. Unfortunately I already have a servant.

Bob: The word is that your servant is the worst servant in London.

Edmund: Hmm, that's true. Baldrick you're fired. Be out of the house in ten minutes. Well young man you've got your self a job. What do they call you?

Bob: Kate.

Edmund: Isn't that a bit of a girls name?

Bob: Oh..it's..euh... short for..euh... Bob!

Blackadder: Right then. Let's take a look shall we? Who's first into the head basket then? Admiral Lord Ethingham and Sir Francis Drake on Monday.

Percy: That should draw a crowd.

Blackadder: Hm?

Percy: Well, sailing enthusiasts.

Blackadder: Oh yes, better make sure there's a few anchors and things on the souvenier stall.

Percy: Aye, aye, sir.

Blackadder: Never, ever try to be funny in my presence again Percy.

Rum: A masterly plan, me young master. And one that leads me to make an announcement meself.

Blackadder: What's that, Rum?

Rum: Truth is, I don't know the way to the Cape of Good Hope anyway.

Blackadder: Well, what were you going to do?

Rum: Oh, what I usually do. Sail 'round and 'round the Isle of Wight 'til everyone gets dizzy. Then head for home.

Bishop: (enters; shouts) He said, "I *am* the baby-eating Bishop of Bath and Wells!"

Edmund: (sits up with a start) Good lord!

Bishop: You haven't any children, have you, Blackadder.

Edmund: No, no, I'm not married.

Bishop: In that case, I'll skip breakfast and get straight down to business.

Percy: Beshrew me, Edmund! You're in good fooling this morning.

Edmund: Don't say `beshrew me', Percy -- only stupid actors say `beshrew me'.

Percy: Oh, how I would love to be an actor! I had a great talent for it in my youth -- I was the man of a thousand faces.

Edmund: How'd you come to choose the ugly mug you've got now, then?

[He begins reading a note.]

Percy: Hah hah! Tush, My Lord.

Edmund: ...and don't say `tush', either! It's only a short step from `tush' to `hey nonny nonny'; and then, I'm afraid, I'll shall have to call the police.

Edmund: Get out! Get out, libidinous swine! And take that horse-slut painted strumpet with you, where you'll both rot in the filth of your own fornication!

Queeny: ...and what did you say to *him*?

Edmund: Say, Madam? I said nothing. I simply pulled up my tights and jumped out the privy window.