[Illustration: SCARAMOUCH AND HIS FIDDLE.]
_Enter SCARAMOUCH._
(_PUNCH, alarmed at the appearance of SCARAMOUCH, retreats round
the corner of the stage._)
SCARA. Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch!
PUNCH (_approaching nearer_). Mr. Scaramouch, what have you there?
SCARA. This, Mr. Punch, is my fiddle.
PUNCH. Call that a fiddle?
SCARA. Yes, it's a real beauty.
PUNCH. If it's a fiddle, why don't you play a tune?
SCARA. That is just what I'm going to do. Thum, thum. Tum, tum, tum.
Bing, bing, bing, bing.
PUNCH. Surely you don't call that a tune? Why, I could do better than
that.
SCARA. (_gives PUNCH the fiddle_). Then let me hear you.
PUNCH. Thum. Tum. Thum. Tum. (_he strikes SCARAMOUCH blows on the back
of the head, saying_) Bing, bing, bing, bing.
SCARA. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Mr. Punch, I'll have no more of that.
[_Exit SCARAMOUCH._
[Illustration]
_Enter POLLY, very gayly dressed._
POLLY. Where is my father? my dear father!
PUNCH (_aside_). What a beauty!
POLLY. Who killed my poor father? Oh! Oh! (_cries_.)
PUNCH. 'Twas I.
POLLY. Oh! Cruel wretch, why did you kill my father?
PUNCH. For your sake, my love.
POLLY. Oh, you barbarian!
PUNCH. Don't cry so, my dear. You will cry your pretty eyes out, and
that would be a pity.
POLLY. Oh, oh! How could you kill him?
PUNCH. He would not let me have you, and so I killed him. If you take
on so, I must cry too--Oh, oh! (_pretending to weep_) How sorry I am!
POLLY. And are you really sorry?
PUNCH. Yes, very sorry--look how I cry.
POLLY (_aside_). What a handsome young man. It is a pity he should cry
so. How the tears run down his beautiful long nose! (_aloud_) Did you
kill my father out of love of me, and are you sorry? If you are sorry,
I must forgive you.
PUNCH. I could kill myself for love of you, much more your father.
POLLY. Do you then really love me?
PUNCH. I do! I do!
POLLY. Then I must love you!
(_Then they embrace, kiss and dance. The whole scene, barring the
dancing, seems modelled upon the interview between Richard III. and
Lady Anne. PUNCH sings._)
I love you so, I love you so,
I never will leave you; no, no, no:
If I had all the wives of wise King Sol,
I would kill them all for my pretty Poll.
[_Exeunt dancing._
_Enter PUNCH, with a large sheep-bell, which he rings violently,
and dances about the stage, shaking the bell and his head at the
same time, and accompanying the music with his voice;--tune,
"_Morgiana in Ireland_."_
Mr. Punch is a very gay man,
He is the fellow the ladies for winning, oh;
Let them do whatever they can,
They never can stand his talking and grinning, oh.
_Enter a SERVANT, in a foreign livery._
SERVANT. Mr. Punch, my master, he say he no like dat noise.
PUNCH (_with surprise, and mocking him_). Your master, he say he no
like that noise! What noise?
SERVANT. Dat nasty noise.
PUNCH. Do you call music a noise?
SERVANT. My master he no lika de music, Mr. Punch, so he'll have no
more noise near his house.
PUNCH. He don't, don't he? Very well. (_PUNCH runs about the stage,
ringing his bell as loudly as he can._)
SERVANT. Get away, I say, wid dat nasty bell.
PUNCH. What bell?
SERVANT. That bell. (_striking it with his hand._)
PUNCH. That's a good one. Do you call this a bell? (_patting it_) It is
an organ.
SERVANT. I say it is a bell, a nasty bell.
PUNCH. I say it is an organ. (_striking him with it_) What you say it
is now?
SERVANT. An organ, Mr. Punch.
PUNCH. An organ? I say it is a fiddle. Can't you see? (_offers to
strike him again._)
[Illustration]
SERVANT. It is a fiddle.
PUNCH. I say it is a drum.
SERVANT. It is a drum, Mr. Punch.
PUNCH. I say it is a trumpet.
SERVANT. Well, so it is a trumpet. But bell, organ, fiddle, drum or
trumpet, my master, he say he no lika de music.
PUNCH. Then bell, organ, fiddle, drum or trumpet, Mr. Punch, he say
your master is a fool.
SERVANT. And he say, too, he will not have it near his house.
PUNCH. He's a fool, I say, not to like my sweet music. Tell him so: be
off. (_hits him with the bell_) Get along. (_driving the SERVANT round
the stage, backwards, and striking him often with the bell_) Be off,
be off. (_knocking him off the stage. Exit SERVANT. PUNCH continues to
ring the bell as loudly as before, while he sings and dances._)
_Re-enter SERVANT, slyly, with a stick._
(_PUNCH perceiving him, retreats behind the side curtain, and
remains upon the watch. The SERVANT does the same, but leaves the
end of the stick visible. PUNCH again comes forward, sets down his
bell very gently, and creeps across the stage, marking his steps
with his hands upon the platform, to ascertain whereabouts his
enemy is. He then returns to his bell, takes it up, and, going
quietly over the stage, hits the SERVANT a heavy blow through the
curtain, and exit, ringing his bell on the opposite side._)
SERVANT. You one nasty, noisy, impudent blackguard. Me catch you yet.
(_hides again as before._)
(_Enter PUNCH, and strikes him as before with the bell. The SERVANT
pops out, and aims a blow, but not quickly enough to hit PUNCH, who
exit._)
SERVANT. You scoundrel, rascal, vagabond, blackguard and liar, you
shall pay for this, depend upon it.
(_He stands back. Enter PUNCH, with his bell, who, seeing the
SERVANT with his stick, retreats instantly, and returns, also armed
with a bludgeon, which he does not at first show. The SERVANT comes
forward, and strikes PUNCH on the head so hard a blow that it seems
to confuse him._)
SERVANT. Me teach you how to ring your nasty, noisy bell near de
gentil-men's houses.
PUNCH (_recovering_). Two can play at that. (_hits the SERVANT with his
stick. A conflict--after a long struggle, during which the combatants
exchange staves, and perform various maneuvers, PUNCH gains the
victory, and knocks his antagonist down on the platform, by repeated
blows on the head._)
SERVANT. Oh, dear! Oh, my head!
PUNCH. And oh, your tail, too. (_hitting him there_) How do you like
that, and that, and that? (_hitting him each time_) Do you like that
music better than the other? This is my bell, (_hits_) this my organ,
(_hits_) this my fiddle, (_hits_) this my drum, (_hits_) and this my
trumpet, (_hits_) there! A whole concert for you.
SERVANT. No more! me dead.
PUNCH. Quite dead?
SERVANT. Yes, quite.
PUNCH. Then there's the last for luck. (_hits him and kills him. He
then takes hold of the body by its legs, swings it round two or three
times, and throws it away._)
_Enter an old BLIND MAN, feeling his way with a staff; he goes to
the opposite side, when he knocks._
BLIND MAN. Poor blind man, Mr. Punch; I hope you'll bestow your
charity; I hear that you are very good and kind to the poor, Mr. Punch;
pray have pity upon me, and may you never know the loss of your tender
eyes! (_listens, putting his ear to the side, and hearing nobody coming
knocks again_) I lost my sight by the sands in Egypt; poor blind man.
Pray, Mr. Punch, have compassion upon the poor stone blind. (_coughs,
and spits over the side_) Only a halfpenny to buy something for my bad
cough. Only one halfpenny. (_knocks again._)
_Enter PUNCH, and receives one of the knocks, intended for the
door, upon his head._
PUNCH. Hollo! you old blind blackguard, can't you see?
BLIND MAN. No, Mr. Punch. Pray, sir, bestow your charity upon a poor
blind man, with a bad cough. (_coughs._)
PUNCH. Get along, get along; don't trouble me: nothing for you.
BLIND MAN. Only a half-penny! Oh, dear! my cough is so bad! (_coughs
and spits in PUNCH'S face._)
PUNCH. Hollo! Was my face the dirtiest place you could find to spit in?
Get away! you nasty old blackguard! Get away! (_seizes the BLIND MAN'S
staff, and knocks him off the stage. PUNCH hums a tune, and dances to
it; and then begins to sing, in the mock Italian style, the following
words, pretending to play the fiddle on his arm, with the stick_)
When I think on you, my jewel,
Wonder not my heart is sad;
You're so fair, and yet so cruel,
You're enough to drive me mad.
On thy lover take some pity,
And relieve his bitter smart.
Think you Heaven has made you pretty
But to break your lover's heart?
[Illustration]