Lord Percy Percy: I've done it, my Lord! I've discovered how to turn things into gold! Pure gold!
Blackadder: You have? Show me!
Lord Percy Percy: [takes lid off melting pot, and Baldrick, Percy and Blackadder are bathed in a green glow] Behold!
Blackadder: Percy... it's green.
Lord Percy Percy: Yes, my Lord!
Blackadder: Now, look, Percy, I don't mean to be pedantic or anything, but the color of gold... is gold. That's why it's called gold. What YOU have discovered, if it has a name, is some... Green.
Lord Percy Percy: [removes lump of Green from pot] Oh, Edmund... can it be true? That I hold here, in my mortal hand, a nugget of purest Green?
Lord Percy Percy: Yes indeed, Percy, except that it's not really a nugget but more of a splat.
Blackadder: Yes, my Lord. A splat today, but tomorrow, who knows, or dares to dream...
Blackadder: [Arthur wants Blackadder to tell him a children's story because he misses his mother] And then Squirry the Squirrel went "Ni, Ni, Ni" and they all went home for tea.
Arthur the Sailor: Thanks very much, me ol' shivering mateys! Now, how much do you charge for a good hard shag?
Blackadder: [nervously] A thousand pounds.
Arthur the Sailor: A thousand pounds? You've got to be joking!
Blackadder: Well, I'm sure we could negotiate.
[Tosses soliciting placard to Baldrick]
Blackadder: [next scene: back at home] Right, so we've got sixpence.
Mrs. Pants: But what about the privies?
Blackadder: Um, well, what we are talking about in privy terms is the latest in front wall fresh air orifices combined with a wide capacity gutter installation below.
Mrs. Pants: You mean you crap out the window?
Mrs. Pants: Well in that case we'll definitely take it. I can't stand those dirty indoor things.
Blackadder: [Reading a gravestone] William Greeves, born 1513 in Chelmsford with the Love of Christ. Died 1563 in Agony-with-a-Spike- up-his-Bottom.
Bishop of Bath and Wells: Never have I encountered such foul, mindless perversity. Have you considered a career in the church?
Bishop of Bath and Wells: [Blackadder has blackmailed the Bishop with a nude painting of him with Percy] Never, in all my years, have I encountered such cruel and foul-minded perversity! Have you ever considered a career in the church?
Blackadder: No, I could never get used to the underwear.
Baldrick: [Baldrick knocks on Blackadder's bedroom door to find him sleeping with a prostitute] My Lord? There's someone at the door.
Blackadder: [wakes up groggily] What time is it?
Baldrick: It's, uh, four o'clock.
Blackadder: Baldrick, how many times have I told you, you mustn't let me sleep all day! This woman charges by the hour!
Baldrick: Uh, no, my Lord, it's, uh, four o'clock in the morning.
Blackadder: Someone wants to see me at four o'clock in the morning? What is he, a giant lark?
Baldrick: Uh, no, I think he's a priest.
Blackadder: Well, tell him to take his sacred backside elsewhere! And tell him that furthermore, if he comes nosing around again, I shall report him to the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who drowns children during christenings and eats them in the vestry afterwards!
Bishop of Bath and Wells: [the Bishop is preparing to ram a red-hot poker up Blackadder's bottom, but takes a swig from a flagon offered by Baldrick] Bend over, Blackadder! This is where you get...
[gags, clutches at throat]
Bishop of Bath and Wells: Drugged, by God!
Blackadder: No, by Baldrick actually, but the effect is much the same.
Blackadder: This place smells worse than a pair of armored trousers after the Hundred Year War. Baldrick! Have you been eating dung again?
Lord Percy: My Lord! I have waited on your return!
[Percy hugs Blackadder]
Blackadder: And thank God you did, Percy, for I was just thinking to myself, "My God, I die in 12 hours, what I really need now is a hug from a complete prat."
Lord Percy: After literally an hour's ceaseless searching, I have succeeded in creating gold, pure gold.
Blackadder: Are you sure?
Lord Percy: Yes, my lord. Behold.
Blackadder: Percy... it's green.
Lord Percy: That's right, my lord.
Blackadder: Yes, Percy, I don't want to be pedantic or anything, but the colour of gold is gold. That's why it's *called* gold. What you have discovered, if it has a name, is "green".
Lord Percy: Oh, Edmund, can it be true, that I hold here in my mortal hand a nugget of purest green?
Blackadder: Indeed you do, Percy, except, of course, it's not really a nugget, it's more of a splat.
Lord Percy: Well, yes, a splat today... but tomorrow - who knows, or dares to dream?
Blackadder: So we three alone in all the world can produce the finest green at will?
Lord Percy: Just so. Not sure about counting in Baldrick, actually.
Lord Percy: My Lord. I have waited on your return.
Blackadder: And thank God you did Percy, for I was just thinking to myself: "My God, I die in 12 hours, what I really need now is a hug from a complete prat.'
Blackadder: [after Baldrick leaves bedroom] Well, you're a one, aren't you? When you should whispering sweet conversational nothings like, 'Goodness, something twice the size of the Royal Barge has just hoved into view between the sheets,' you don't say a word. But enter the Creature from the Black Latrine, and you won't stop jabbering.
Molly: He treats me like a human being!
Blackadder: Look, if I wanted a lecture on the Rights of Man, I would have gone to bed with Martin Luther.
Baldrick: My lord?
Blackadder: Pack my bags; I'm going to sell the house.
Baldrick and Percy: [Shocked] What?
Blackadder: There's nothing else for it. I mean I shall miss the old place, I know. I've had some happy times here, when you and Percy have been out. But needs must when the vomits into your kettle. Baldrick, go forth into the streets and let it be known that Lord Blackadder wishes to sell his house. Percy, just go forth into the street.
[threatening Blackadder with a red-hot poker]
Bishop of Bath and Wells: I shall make your bottom wish it had never been *born*!
Baldrick: [Black Adder is in desperate need of money to pay a debt to the Bank of the Black Monks of St Herod] I have heard there's good money to be made down the docks. Doing favours for sailors.
Blackadder: What do you mean? Delivering messages, sewing on buttons?