Chicken! No, I've got to go to the Robinsons'. They've lost nine today. What? Ridden on a horse? That's what it's all about. If only people would hear of-- Come, Patsy. So, why do witches burn? Mind your own business! Uh, very small rocks! Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you? Oh, let's be nice to him.

That's what it's all about. If only people would hear of-- Oh, King, eh, very nice. And how d'you get that, eh? By exploiting the workers! By 'anging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society. If there's ever going to be any progress with the-- Arthur! Arthur, King of the Britons! Aaagh! Sorry.

Oh, don't be such a baby. And the hat, but she is a witch! Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system. And that, my liege, is how we know the earth to be banana-shaped. Uh, very small rocks! Oh, had enough, eh? So, why do witches burn? Bravely ran away, away.

Aaagh!

Oh, I don't think so. Cider! You're not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn't there something you can do? I blow my nose at you, so-called Arthur King, you and all your silly English k-nnnnniggets. Right. I'll do you for that! I'm invincible!

I feel fine! Or to have his eyes gouged out and his elbows broken, to have his kneecaps split and his body burned away And his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin! Look well, Arthur, for it is your sacred task to seek this grail. What? Please! Please, good people. I am in haste. Who lives in that castle? The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land? We're opera mad in Camelot. We sing from the diaphragm a lot. Bring out your dead! Brave Sir Robin ran away. Uh, very small rocks!

Here's one. Look, my liege! Arthur! Arthur, King of the Britons! Oh? All right, we'll call it a draw. You're fooling yourself. We're living in a dictatorship: a self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes--

Shut up!