Blackadder

Blackadder:
[to Baldrick] I wish to quickly send off some party invitations. And to make them look particularly tough, I wish to write them in blood. Your blood, to be precise.

Baldrick:
So, how much blood will you actually be requiring, my lord?

Blackadder:
Oh, nothing much, just a small puddle.

Baldrick:
Will you want me to cut anything off? An arm or a leg, for instance?

Blackadder:
Oh, good lord, no. A little prick should do.

Baldrick:
Very well, my lord. I am your bondsman, and must obey. (sticks a knife down his trousers and begins sawing)

Blackadder:
OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, BALDRICK! I meant a little prick on your finger!

Baldrick:
I haven't got one there!