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Scaramouch. Hollo ! Mr. Punch! What have you been doing to my poor dog?

Punch. [Retreating behind the side scene, on observing the stick, and peeping round the corner.] Ha ! my good friend ! how you do? glad to see you look so well. [Aside.] I wish you were farther with your nasty great stick.

Scaramouch. You have been beating and ill-using my poor dog, Mr. Punch.

Punch. He has been biting and ill-using my poor nose. - What have got there, sir?

Scaramouch. Where?

Punch. In your hand? Scaramouch. A fiddle.

Punch. A fiddel! what a pretty thing is a fiddel! Can you play upon that fiddel?

Scaramouch. Come here, and I'll try.

Punch. No, thank youĞ I can hear the music here, very well.

Scaramouch. Then you shall try yourself. Can you play?

Punch. [Coming in.] I do not know, 'til I try. Let me see! [Takes the stick, and moves slowly about, singing the tune of the Marche des Marseillois. He hits Scaramouch a slight blow on his high cap, as if by accident.]

Scaramouch. You play very well, Mr. Punch. Now, let me try. I will give you a lesson how to play the fiddle. [Takes the stick, and dances to the same tune, hitting Punch a hard blow on the back of his head.] There's sweet music for you.

Punch. I no like you playing so well as my own. Let me again. [Takes the stick, and dances as before: in the course of his dance he gets behind Scaramouch, and, with a violent blow, knocks his head clean off his shoulders.] How you like that tune, my good friend? That sweet music, or sour music, eh! - He! he! he! [Laughing, and throwing away the stick.] You'll never hear such another tune, so long as you live, my boy. [Sings the tune of " Malbroug," and dances to it.] Judy! Judy, my dear! Judy! can't you answer, my dear'

Judy. [Within.] Well! what do you want, Mr. Punch?

Punch. Come up stairs: I want you.

Judy. Then want must be your master. I'm busy.

Punch. [Singing, tune " Malbroug."]

Her answer genteel is and civil!
No wonder, you think, if we live ill,
And I wish her sometimes at the Devil,
Since that's all the answer I get.
Yet, why should I grumble and fret,
Because she's sometimes in a pet ?
Though I really am sorry to say, Sirs,
That that is too often her way, Sirs.
For this, by and by, she shall pay, Sirs.
Oh, wives are an obstinate set!

Judy, my dear! [Calling.] Judy, my love! pretty Judy ! come up stairs.


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