that fills up a letter-cloth; and Punch is a fancy for every person,
you know, whoever may fancy it. I stands inside here on this footboard;
and if there’s any one up at the winders in the street, I puts my foot
longways, so as to keep my nob out of sight. This here is the stage
front, or _proceedings_ (proscenium), and is painted over with flags
and banners, or any different things. Sometimes there’s George and the
Dragging, and the Rile Queen’s Arms, (we can have them up when we like,
cos we are sanctioned, and I’ve played afore the rile princes). But
anything for freshness. People’s tired of looking at the Rile Arms, and
wants something new to cause attraction, and so on.
“This here’s the playboard, where sits Punch. The scenes behind are
representing a garding scene, and the side-scenes is a house and a
cottage--they’re for the exaunts, you know, just for convenience. The
back scene draws up, and shows the prison, with the winders all cut
out, and the bars showing, the same as there is to a gaol; though I
never was in one in my life, and I’ll take good care I never shall be.
“Our speaking instrument is an unknown secret, cos it’s an ‘unknown
tongue,’ that’s known to none except those in our own purfession. It’s
a hinstrument like this which I has in my hand, and it’s tuned to
music. We has two or three kinds, one for out-doors, one for in-doors,
one for speaking, one for singing, and one that’s good for nothing,
except selling on the cheap. They ain’t whistles, but ‘calls,’ or
‘unknown tongues;’ and with them in the mouth we can pronounce each
word as plain as a parson, and with as much affluency.
“The great difficulty in preforming Punch consists in speaking with
this call in the mouth--cos it’s produced from the lungs: it’s all done
from there, and is a great strain, and requires sucktion--and that’s
brandy-and-water, or summat to moisten the whistle with.
“We’re bound not to drink water by our purfession, when we can get
anything stronger. It weakens the nerves, but we always like to keep
in the bounds of propriety, respectability, and decency. I drinks my
beer with my call in my mouth, and never takes it out, cos it exposes
it, and the boys (hang ’em!) is so inquisitive. They runs after us, and
looks up in our face to see how we speaks; but we drives ’em away with
civility.
“Punch is a dramatical performance, sir, in two acts, patronised by the
nobility and gentry at large. We don’t drop the scene at the end of
the first act, the drum and pipes strikes up instead. The first act we
consider to end with Punch being took to prison for the murder of his
wife and baby. You can pick out a good many Punch preformers, without
getting one so well versed as I am in it; they in general makes such
a muffing concern of it. A drama, or dramatical preformance, we calls
it, of the original preformance of Punch. It ain’t a tragedy; it’s both
comic and sentimental, in which way we think proper to preform it.
There’s comic parts, as with the Clown and Jim Crow, and cetera--that’s
including a deal more, yer know.
“It’s a pretty play Punch is, when preformed well, and one of the
greatest novelties in the world; and most ancient; handed down, too,
for many hundred years.
“The prison scene and the baby is what we calls the sentimental
touches. Some folks where I preforms will have it most sentimental, in
the original style. Them families is generally sentimental theirselves.
To these sentimental folks I’m obliged to preform werry steady and
werry slow; they won’t have no ghost, no coffin, and no devil; and
that’s what I call spiling the preformance entirely. Ha, ha!” he added,
with a deep sigh, “it’s the march of intellect that’s a doing all this:
it is, sir.
“Other folks is all for the comic, specially the street people; and
then we has to dwell on the bell scene, and the nursing the baby, and
the frying-pan, and the sassages, and Jim Crow.
“A few years ago Toby was all the go. Formerly the dog was only a
stuffed figure, and it was Mr. Pike what first hit upon introducing a
live animal; and a great hit it war. It made a surprising alteration in
the exhibition, for till lately the preformance was called Punch and
Toby as well. We used to go about the streets with three dogs, and that
was admirable, and it did uncommon well as a new novelty at first, but
we can’t get three dogs to do it now. The mother of them dogs, ye see,
was a singer, and had two pups what was singers too. Toby was wanted to
sing and smoke a pipe as well, shake hands as well as seize Punch by
the nose. When Toby was quiet, ye see, sir, it was the timidation of
Punch’s stick, for directly he put it down he flew at him, knowing at
the same time that Punch was not his master.
“Punch commences with a song. He does roo-too-rooey, and sings the
‘Lass of Gowrie’ down below, and then he comes up, saying, ‘Ooy-ey;
Oh, yes, I’m a coming. How do you do, ladies and gents?’--ladies
always first; and then he bows many times. ‘I’m so happy to see you,’
he says; ‘Your most obedient, most humble, and dutiful servant, Mr.
Punch.’ (Ye see I can talk as affluent as can be with the call in my
mouth.) ‘Ooy-ey, I wishes you all well and happy.’ Then Punch says
to the drum-and-pipes man, as he puts his hand out, ‘How do you do,
master?--play up; play up a hornpipe: I’m a most hexcellent dancer;’
and then Punch dances. Then ye see him a-dancing the hornpipe; and
after that Punch says to the pipes, ‘Master, I shall call my wife up,
and have a dance;’ so he sings out, ‘Judy, Judy! my pratty creetur!
come up stairs, my darling! I want to speak to you’--and he knocks on
the play-board.--‘Judy! Here she comes, bless her little heart!’
_Enter_ JUDY.
_Punch._ What a sweet creature! what a handsome nose and chin! (_He
pats her on the face very gently._)
_Judy._ (_Slapping him._) Keep quiet, do!
_Punch._ Don’t be cross, my dear, but give me a kiss.
_Judy._ Oh, to be sure, my love. [_They kiss._
_Punch._ Bless your sweet lips! (_Hugging her._) This is melting
moments. I’m very fond of my wife; we must have a dance.
_Judy._ Agreed. [_They both dance._
_Punch._ Get out of the way! you don’t dance well enough for me. (_He
hits her on the nose._) Go and fetch the baby, and mind and take care
of it, and not hurt it. [_Judy exaunts._
_Judy._ (_Returning back with baby._) Take care of the baby, while I go
and cook the dumplings.
_Punch._ (_Striking Judy with his right hand._) Get out of the way!
I’ll take care of the baby.
[_Judy exaunts._
_Punch_ (_sits down and sings to the baby_)--
“Hush-a-by, baby, upon the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
Down comes the baby and cradle and all.”
[_Baby cries._
_Punch._ (_Shaking it._) What a cross boy! (_He lays it down on the
play-board, and rolls it backwards and forwards, to rock it to sleep,
and sings again._)
“Oh, slumber, my darling, thy sire is a knight,
Thy mother’s a lady so lovely and bright;
The hills and the dales, and the tow’rs which you see,
They all shall belong, my dear creature, to thee.”
(_Punch continues rocking the child. It still cries, and he takes it
up in his arms, saying_, What a cross child! I can’t a-bear cross
children. _Then he vehemently shakes it, and knocks its head up against
the side of the proceedings several times, representing to kill it, and
he then throws it out of the winder._)
_Enter_ JUDY.
_Judy._ Where’s the baby?
_Punch._ (_In a lemoncholy tone._) I have had a misfortune; the child
was so terrible cross, I throwed it out of the winder. (_Lemontation
of Judy for the loss of her dear child. She goes into asterisks, and
then excites and fetches a cudgel, and commences beating Punch over the
head._)
_Punch._ Don’t be cross, my dear: I didn’t go to do it.
_Judy._ I’ll pay yer for throwing the child out of the winder. (_She
keeps on giving him knocks of the head, but Punch snatches the stick
away, and commences an attack upon his wife, and beats her severely._)
_Judy._ I’ll go to the constable, and have you locked up.
_Punch._ Go to the devil. I don’t care where you go. Get out of the
way! (_Judy exaunts, and Punch then sings, “Cherry ripe,” or “Cheer,
boys, cheer.” All before is sentimental, now this here’s comic. Punch
goes through his roo-too-to-rooey, and then the Beadle comes up._)
_Beadle._ Hi! hallo, my boy!
_Punch._ Hello, my boy. (_He gives him a wipe over the head with his
stick, which knocks him down, but he gets up again._)
_Beadle._ Do you know, sir, that I’ve a special order in my pocket to
take you up?
_Punch._ And I’ve a special order to knock you down. (_He knocks him
down with simplicity, but not with brutality, for the juvenial branches
don’t like to see severity practised._)
_Beadle._ (_Coming up again._) D’ye know, my boy, that I’ve an order to
take you up?
_Punch._ And I’ve an order I tell ye to knock you down. (_He sticks
him. Punch is a tyrant to the Beadle, ye know, and if he was took up he
wouldn’t go through his rambles, so in course he isn’t._)
_Beadle._ I’ve a warrant for you, my boy.
_Punch._ (_Striking him._) And that’s a warrant for you, my boy. (_The
Beadle’s a determined man, ye know, and resolved to go to the ends of
justice as far as possible in his power by special authority, so a
quarrel enshoos between them._)
_Beadle._ You are a blackguard.
_Punch._ So are you.
(_The Beadle hits Punch on the nose, and takes the law in his own
hands. Punch takes it up momentary; strikes the Beadle, and a fight
enshoos. The Beadle, faint and exhausted, gets up once more; then he
strikes Punch over the nose, which is returned pro and con._)
_Beadle._ That’s a good ’un.
_Punch._ That’s a better.
_Beadle._ That’s a topper. (_He hits him jolly hard._)
_Punch._ (_With his cudgel._) That’s a wopper. (_He knocks him out of
his senses, and the Beadle exaunts._)
_Enter_ MERRY CLOWN.
_Punch sings “Getting up Stairs,” in quick time, while the Clown is
coming up. Clown dances round Punch in all directions, and Punch with
his cudgel is determined to catch him if possible._
_Clown._ No bono, allez tooti sweet, Mounseer. Look out sharp! Make
haste! catch ’em alive! Here we are! how are you? good morning! don’t
you wish you may get it? Ah! coward, strike a white man! (_Clown keeps
bobbing up and down, and Punch trying to hit all the time till Punch is
exhausted nearly._)
(The Clown, ye see, sir, is the best friend to Punch, he carries him
through all his tricks, and he’s a great favorite of Punch’s. He’s too
cunning for him though, and knows too much for him, so they both shake
hands and make it up.)
_Clown._ Now it’s all fair; ain’t it, Punch?
_Punch._ Yes.
_Clown._ Now I can begin again.
(You see, sir, the Clown gets over Punch altogether by his artful ways,
and then he begins the same tricks over again; that is, if we wants a
long performance; if not, we cuts it off at the other pint. But I’m
telling you the real original style, sir.)
_Clown._ Good! you can’t catch me.
(_Punch gives him one whack of the head, and Clown exaunts, or goes
off._)
_Enter_ JIM CROW.
_Jim sings “Buffalo Gals,” while coming up, and on entering Punch hits
him a whack of the nose backhanded, and almost breaks it._
_Jim._ What for you do that? Me nigger! me like de white man. Him did
break my nose.
_Punch._ Humbly beg your pardon, I did not go to help it.
(For as it had been done, you know, it wasn’t likely he could help it
after he’d done it--he couldn’t take it away from him again, could he?)
_Jim._ Me beg you de pardon. (For ye see, sir, he thinks he’s offended
Punch.) Nebber mind, Punch, come and sit down, and we’ll hab a song.
JIM CROW _prepares to sing_.
_Punch._ Bravo, Jimmy! sing away, my boy--give us a stunner while
you’re at it.
JIM _sings_.
“I’m a roarer on the fiddle,
Down in the ole Virginny;
And I plays it scientific,
Like Master Paganinni.”
_Punch._ (_Tapping him on the head._) Bravo! well done, Jimmy! give us
another bit of a song.
_Jim._ Yes, me will. [_Sings again._
“Oh, lubly Rosa, Sambo come;
Don’t you hear the banjo?
Tum, tum, tum!”
Jim hits Punch with his head over the nose, as if butting at him,
while he repeats tum-tum-tum. Punch offended, beats him with the stick,
and sings--
“Lubly Rosa, Sambo come;
Don’t you hear the banjo?
Tum, tum, tum!”
_Jim._ (_Rising._) Oh mi! what for you strike a nigger? (_Holding
up his leg._) Me will poke your eye out. Ready--shoot--bang--fire.
(_Shoves his leg into Punch’s eye._)
_Punch._ He’s poked my eye out! I’ll look out for him for the future.
Jim Crow excites, or exaunts. Exaunt we calls it in our purfession,
sir,--that’s going away, you know. He’s done his part, you know, and
ain’t to appear again.
Judy has died through Punch’s ill usage after going for the Beadle, for
if she’d done so before she could’nt ha’ fetched the constable, you
know,--certainly not. The beholders only believe her to be dead though,
for she comes to life again afterwards, because, if she was dead, it
would do away with Punch’s wife altogether--for Punch is doatingly fond
of her, though it’s only his fun after all’s said and done.
The Ghost, you see, is only a repersentation, as a timidation to soften
his bad morals, so that he shouldn’t do the like again. The Ghost, to
be sure, shows that she’s really dead for a time, but it’s not in the
imitation; for if it was, Judy’s ghost (the figure) would be made like
her.
The babby’s lost altogether. It’s killed. It is supposed to be
destroyed entirely, but taken care of for the next time when called
upon to preform--as if it were in the next world, you know,--that’s
moral.
_Enter_ Ghost. Punch sings meanwhile ‘Home, sweet Home.’ (This is
original.) The Ghost repersents the ghost of Judy, because he’s killed
his wife, don’t you see, the Ghost making her appearance; but Punch
don’t know it at the moment. Still he sits down tired, and sings in the
corner of the frame the song of “Home, sweet Home,” while the Sperrit
appears to him.
Punch turns round, sees the Ghost, and is most terribly timidated.
He begins to shiver and shake in great fear, bringing his guilty
conscience to his mind of what he’s been guilty of doing, and at last
he falls down in a fit of frenzy. Kicking, screeching, hollering, and
shouting “Fifty thousand pounds for a doctor!” Then he turns on his
side, and draws hisself double with the screwmatics in his gills.
[_Ghost excites._
_Enter_ DOCTOR.
Punch is represented to be dead. This is the dying speech of Punch.
_Doctor._ Dear me! bless my heart! here have I been running as fast as
ever I could walk, and very near tumbled over a straw. I heard somebody
call most lustily for a doctor. Dear me (_looking at Punch in all
directions, and examining his body_), this is my pertickler friend Mr.
Punch; poor man! how pale he looks! I’ll feel his pulse (_counts his
pulse_)--1, 2, 14, 9, 11. Hi! Punch, Punch, are you dead? are you dead?
are you dead?
_Punch._ (_Hitting him with his right hand over the nose, and knocking
him back._) Yes.
_Doctor._ (_Rubbing his nose with his hand._) I never heard a dead man
speak before. Punch, you are not dead!
_Punch._ Oh, yes I am.
_Doctor._ How long have you been dead?
_Punch._ About six weeks.
_Doctor._ Oh, you’re not dead, you’re only poorly; I must fetch you a
little reviving medicine, such as some stick-lickrish and balsam, and
extract of shillalagh.
_Punch._ (_Rising._) Make haste--(_he gives the Doctor a wipe on the
nose_)--make haste and fetch it. [_Doctor exaunts._
_Punch._ The Doctor going to get me some physic! I’m very fond of
brandy-and-water, and rum-punch. I want my physic; the Doctor never
brought me no physic at all. I wasn’t ill; it was only my fun. (_Doctor
reappears with the physic-stick, and he whacks Punch over the head no
harder than he is able, and cries_--)“There’s physic! physic! physic!
physic! physic! pills! balsaam! stick-lickerish!”
_Punch._ (_Rising and rubbing his head against the wing._) Yes; it is
stick-lickrish.
(Ah! it’s a pretty play, sir, when it’s showed well--that it is--it’s
delightful to read the morals; I am wery fond of reading the morals, I
am.)
_Punch._ (_Taking the stick from the Doctor._) Now, I’ll give you
physic! physic! physic! (_He strikes at the Doctor, but misses him
every time._) The Doctor don’t like his own stuff.
_Punch._ (_Presenting his stick, gun-fashion, at Doctor’s head._) I’ll
shoot ye--one, two, three.
_Doctor._ (_Closing with Punch._) Come to gaol along with me.
(He saves his own life by closing with Punch. He’s a desperate
character is Punch, though he means no harm, ye know.) A struggle
enshoos, and the Doctor calls for help, Punch being too powerful for
him.
_Doctor._ Come to gaol! You shall repent for all your past misdeeds.
Help! assistance! help, in the Queen’s name!
(He’s acting as a constable, the Doctor is, though he’s no business to
do it; but he’s acting in self-defence. He didn’t know Punch, but he’d
heard of his transactions, and when he came to examine him, he found it
was the man. The Doctor is a very sedate kind of a person, and wishes
to do good to all classes of the community at large, especially with
his physic, which he gives gratis for nothink at all. The physic is
called ‘Head-e-cologne, or a sure cure for the head-ache.’)
_Re-enter_ BEADLE. (_Punch and the Doctor still struggling together._)
_Beadle._ (_Closing with them._) Hi, hi! this is him; behold the head
of a traitor! Come along! come to gaol!
_Punch._ (_A-kicking._) I will not go.
_Beadle._ (_Shouting._) More help! more help! more help! help! help!
Come along to gaol! come along! come along! More help! more help!
(Oh! it’s a good lark just here, sir, but tremendous hard work, for
there’s so many figures to work--and all struggling, too,--and you have
to work them all at once. This is comic, this is.)
_Beadle._ More help! be quick! be quick!
_Re-enter_ JIM CROW.
_Jim Crow._ Come de long! come de long! come de long! me nigger, and
you beata me.
[_Exaunts all, Punch still singing out_, “I’ll not go.”