Too Much Effort

Baldrick: 

Permission to ask a question, sir…

Edmund: 

Permission granted, Baldrick, as long as isn’t 

the one about where babies come from.

Baldrick: 

No, the thing is : 

The way I see it, these days 

there’s a war on, right? 

and, ages ago, there 

wasn’t a war on, right? 

So, there must have been a moment when 

There Not being A War on 

went away, right? And 

There being A War on came along.

 

So, what I want to know is :

How did we get from the 

one case of affairs 

to the other case of affairs?

 

Edmund: 

Do you mean,

“How Did The War start?”

 

Baldrick: 

Yeah.

George: 

!!!…The War started 

Because of The Vile Hun and 

His villainous Empire-building.

 

Edmund: 

George, The British Empire at present 

covers A Quarter of The Globe,

while The German Empire consists 

of a small sausage factory in Tanganyika. 

 

I hardly think that we can be entirely absolved of Blame

on The Imperialistic front.

 

George: 

Oh, no, sir, absolutely not. 

(aside, to Baldick)

Mad as a bicycle!

 

Baldrick: 

I heard that it started when 

A Bloke called Archie Duke 

shot an ostrich ’cause he was hungry.

 

Edmund: 

I think you mean it started when 

The Archduke of Austro-Hungary 

got shot.

 

Baldrick: 

Nah, there was definitely an ostrich involved, sir.

 

Edmund: 

Well, possibly. 

But The Real Reason 

for the whole thing was that 

It was just Too Much Effort 

not to Have a War.

 

George: 

By Gum, this is interesting; 

I always loved History — 

The Battle of Hastings, 

Henry VIII and his six knives, all that.

Edmund: 

You see, Baldrick, in order to prevent war in Europe, 

 Two Superblocs Developed : 

Us, The French and The Russians 

on One Side, 

and The Germans and Austro-Hungary 

on The Other. 

The idea was to have 

Two Vast Opposing Armies, 

each acting as 

The Other’s deterrent. 

That Way, 

There could never be A War.

Baldrick: 

..but this is a sort of A War, 

isn’t it, sir?

Edmund: 

Yes, that’s right. 

You see, there was 

A Tiny Flaw in The Plan.

George: 

What was that, sir?

 

Edmund: 

It was BOLLOCKS.

 

 

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

 You opposed me in The Council, 

this morning, Thomas. 

 

Yes, Your Grace. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

….you were the only one.

 

Yes, Your Grace. 

 

You're A Fool. 

 

I Thank God there is only one fool on The Council. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Why did you oppose me? 

 

I thought Your Grace was wrong.

 

Carninal Woolsey :

A matter of Conscience. 

You're a constant regret 

to me, Thomas. 

If you could just see facts flat on,

without that horrible moral squint. 

With a little Common Sense, 

you could have made A Statesman. 

 

The King. Where's he been? 

Do you know? 

 

I, Your Grace? 

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

Oh, spare me your discretion. 

He's been to play in the muck again. 

He's been to Mistress Anne Boleyn. 

Moore — Are You Going to Help Me? 

 

If Your Grace will be specific —

 

Carninal Woolsey :

You're a plodder! 

All right, we'll plod. 

The King wants A Son. 

What are you going to do about it? 

 

I'm very sure The King needs no advice from me 

on what to do about it. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Thomas, We're alone. 

I give you My Word, 

there's no one here. 

 

I didn't suppose 

there was, Your Grace. 

 

( He’s genuinely surprised and taken aback — because, of course, the study door has been deliberate left a few inches ajar by Cromwell on his way out, having granted Moore admittance, before retiring to beyond a margin of a discreet and plausibly deniable Safe Distance further down the cavernous, echoing Oak-Panelled corridors of Hampton Court.  )

Carninal Woolsey :

Oh. 

Do you favour a change of Dynasty, Sir Thomas? 

Do you think two Tudors are sufficient? 

 

For God's sake, Your Grace! 

 Carninal Woolsey :

Then He Needs A Son. 

I repeat, What are You 

Going to Do About it? 

 

I pray for it daily. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

God's Death, he means it…..!

That Thing Out There.... 

at least she's fertile. 

 

But She's not His Wife.

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

No, Katherine's His Wife

and she's barren as a brick. 

Are you going to pray for a miracle? 

 

There are precedents. 

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

All right. Good. Pray by all means. 

But in addition to prayer, 

there is Effort. 

And My Effort is to secure 

A Divorce. 

Have I Your Support, 

or Have I Not? 

 

The Pope gave a dispensation, 

so that The King might marry 

His Brother's Widow, 

for State Reasons. 

We are to ask The Pope 

to dispense with His Dispensation, 

also for State Reasons? 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

I don't like plodding, Thomas. Well? 

 

Then, clearly all we have to do 

is to approach His Holiness 

and ask him. 

 Carninal Woolsey :

I think we might influence the 

decision of His Holiness. 

By argument? 

Carninal Woolsey :

Argument, certainly. 

And…. pressure. 

 

Pressure —applied to The Church? 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

The Church and, Church Property.  

Pressure. 

 …..

No, Your Grace -- 

I'm not going to help you. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Then goodnight, Master Moore. 

Let The Dynasty die with Henry VIII 

and we'll have dynastic wars again—

Blood-witted barons 

ramping The Country 

from end to end. 

Is that what you want? 

 

Very well. England needs An Heir. 

Certain…. measures, 

perhaps regrettable... 

perhaps not….as much in 

a Church which needs Reformation, Thomas. 

 

All right, regrettable. 

But necessary to get us An Heir. 

Now, explain how you, 

as A Councillor of England, 

can obstruct these measures….

For The Sake of Your Own 

Private Conscience. 

 

I think, that when 

Statesmen forsake their 

Own Private Conscience 

for The Sake of their Public Duties,

They lead Their Country 

by a short route — to Chaos. 

 

And we shall have 

My Prayers to fall back on.

 

Carninal Woolsey :

You'd like that, wouldn't you? 

To govern The Country with prayers? 

 

 

Yes, I should. 

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

I'd like to be there when you try.

Who will wear this after me? 

Who's our next Chancellor? 

You? Fisher? Suffolk? 

 

Fisher, for Me. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Aye, but for The King? 

What about My Secretary, Master Cromwell? 

 

Cromwell…. He's a very able Man. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

But? 

 

Me, rather than Cromwell. 

 

 Carninal Woolsey :

Then, come down to Earth. 

Until you do... 

...You and I are enemies. 

 

As Your Grace wishes. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

As God Wills. 

 

Perhaps, Your Grace. 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Moore…

You should have been A Cleric! 

 

Like yourself, Your Grace? 

 

Carninal Woolsey :

Goodnight, Sir Thomas.