Edmund: Give the likes of Baldrick the vote and it'll be back to cavorting druids, death by stoning and dung for dinner.
Oh I'm having dung for dinner tonight.
"But nothing is going to cure that ugly mug, son. Maybe you'd want to invent some orthodontia."
"All that about the thunder of the drums, sunlight flashing on armor, magnificent destriers snorting and prancing? Well, the drums give me headaches, the sunlight flashing on my armor cooked me up like a harvest day goose, and those magnificent destriers shit everywhere."
This is the medieval ages: the smell of drunkards, feces and urine, of horses and mules and other animals all mixed together. It was the butcher hanging his still-bleeding wares in the street raw, the woman gossiping out of windows to each other and air-drying their laundry over the lane, men carrying swords at their hips and eyeing everyone they saw, and open sewers down the sides of the street. It was the tankards in the pub window and the pints in the other pub two doors down. It was in the retched filth lying in the gutters and alleys, the complete ignorance of hygiene or respect for other life, and the men passed out next to barrels of ale.
...the actual Renaissance in no way resembled today's Renaissance fairs. Nobody took Visa, and the average person didn't live past twenty seven; it was an entire planet of Real World cast members. You either died of plague or were burned alive for being a witch. Such inauspicious circumstances gave rise to the murder ballad.
— Tom Reynolds, I Hate Myself and Want to Die: The 52 Most Depressing Songs You've Ever Heard