ACT II.

SCENE.--_Interior of an Hotel._

PUNCH. Judy! Judy, my dear! Judy, my dear, 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. Judy, my dear! Judy, my love! Pretty Judy, come up-stairs.

_Enter JUDY._

JUDY. Well, here I am. What do you want, now I'm come?

PUNCH (_aside_). What a pretty creature! An't she a beauty?

JUDY. What do you want, I say?

PUNCH. A kiss; a pretty kiss! (_kisses her, while she hits him a slap on the face._)

JUDY. Take that, then. How do you like my kisses? Will you have another?

PUNCH. No; one at a time, one at a time, my sweet pretty wife! (_aside_) She always is so playful. Where's the child? Fetch me the baby, Judy, my dear.

JUDY. The baby? I'm afraid that she is asleep--I'll go down and see.

[_Exit JUDY._

PUNCH (_solus_). There's a wife for you! What a precious, darling creature! She go to fetch our baby.

_Re-enter JUDY with the BABY._

JUDY. Here's the child. Pretty dear! Take the baby.

PUNCH (_holding out his hands_). Give it me--pretty little thing! How like its sweet mamma!

JUDY. How awkward you are!

PUNCH. Give it me; I know how to nurse it as well as you do. (_she gives it him_) Get away! (_Exit JUDY. PUNCH, nursing the CHILD in his arms_) What a pretty baby it is! was it sleepy then? Hush-a-by, by, by. (_sings to the tune of "_Rest thee, Babe_"_)

Oh, rest thee, my baby, Thy daddy is here; Thy mammy's a gaby, And that's very clear.

Oh, rest thee, my darling, Thy mother will come, With a voice like a starling;-- I wish she was dumb!

Poor, dear little thing! it cannot get to sleep. By, by; by, by, hush-a-by. Well, then, it shan't. (_dances the CHILD, and then sets it on his lap, between his knees, and sings the common nursery ditty_)

Dancy, baby, diddy; What shall daddy do widdy? Sit on his lap, Give it some pap-- Dancy, baby, diddy.

(_After nursing it upon his lap, PUNCH sticks the CHILD against the side of the stage, on the platform, and going himself to the opposite side, runs up to it, clapping his hands and crying, "_Catchee, catchee, catchee!_" He then takes it up again, and it begins to cry._)

What is the matter with it? Poor thing! it has got the stomach-ache, I dare say. (_CHILD cries_) Hush-a-by, hush-a-by! (_sitting down, and rolling it on his knees_) Naughty child! Judy, (_calling_) the child has got the stomach-ache. Judy, I say! (_CHILD continues to cry_) Keep quiet, can't you? (_hits it a spank_) I won't keep such a naughty child. Hold your tongue! (_strikes the CHILD'S head several times against the side of the stage_) There--there--there! How do you like that? I thought I'd stop your squalling. Get along with you, naughty, crying child! (_throws it over the front of the stage among the spectators_) He, he, he! (_laughing and singing to the same tune as before_)

Get away, naughty baby; There it goes over. Thy mammy's a gaby, Thy daddy's a rover.

_Re-enter JUDY._

JUDY. Where is the baby?

PUNCH. Gone--gone to sleep.

JUDY. What have you done with the child, I say?

PUNCH. Gone to sleep, I say.

JUDY. What have you done with it?

PUNCH. What have I done with it?

JUDY. Aye; done with it! I heard it crying just now. Where is it?

PUNCH. How should I know?

JUDY. I heard you make the pretty darling cry.

PUNCH. I dropped it out at window.

JUDY. Oh, you cruel, horrid wretch, to drop the pretty baby out at window. Oh, (_cries, and wipes her eyes_) you barbarous man! Oh, I'll make you pay for this, depend upon it.

[_Exit in haste._

PUNCH. There she goes. What a piece of work about nothing! (_dances about and sings, beating time with his head, as he turns round, on the front of the stage._)

_Re-enter JUDY with a stick; she comes in behind, and hits PUNCH a sounding blow on the back of the head before he is aware._

JUDY. I'll teach you to drop my child out at window.

PUNCH. So--o--oftly, Judy, so--o--oftly! (_rubbing the back of his head with his hand_) Don't be a fool now. What you at?

JUDY. What! you'll drop my poor baby out at window again, will you? (_hitting him continually on the head._)

PUNCH. No; I never will again. (_she still hits him_) Softly, I say, softly. A joke's a joke.

JUDY. Oh, you cruel brute! (_hitting him again_) I'll teach you.

PUNCH. But me no like such teaching. What! you're in earnest, are you?

JUDY. Yes, (_hit_) I (_hit_) am. (_hit._)

PUNCH. I'm glad of it; me no like such jokes. (_she hits him again_) Leave off, I say. What! you won't, won't you?

JUDY. No, I won't. (_hits him._)

PUNCH. Very well, then, now come my turn to teach you. (_he snatches at, and struggles with her for the stick, which he wrenches from her and strikes her with it on the head, while she runs about to different parts of the stage to get out of his way_) How you like my teaching, Judy, my pretty dear? (_hitting her._)

JUDY. O, pray, Mr. Punch--no more!

PUNCH. Yes; one little more lesson. (_hits her again_) There, there, there! (_she falls down, with her head over the platform of the stage; and as he continues to hit at her she puts up her hand to guard her head_) Any more?

JUDY. No, no; no more. (_lifting up her head._)

PUNCH (_knocking down her head_). I thought I should soon make you quiet.

JUDY (_again raising her head_). No.

PUNCH (_again knocking it down, and following up his blows until she is lifeless_). Now, if you're satisfied, I am. (_perceiving that she does not move_) There, get up, Judy, my dear; I won't hit you any more. None of your shamming. This is only your fun. You got the headache? Why, you only asleep. Get up, I say! Well, then, get down. (_tosses the body down with the end of his stick._)

SHOWMAN (_outside_). Oh, Mr. Punch, what have you done? You will have a ghost after you now.

PUNCH. I don't care.

SHOWMAN. You don't care?

PUNCH. No; I've seen five ghosts.

SHOWMAN. Five ghosts! What would you say were you to see one now?

PUNCH. I'd knock him down.

_Enter GHOST, which rises at back of the stage, stealthily advancing to the front._

SHOWMAN. Well, there is one coming now; look to your left.

PUNCH (_looking right round the corner of the stage_). Here?

SHOWMAN. No; the other way.

PUNCH (_looks every way but the right direction; he at last sees the GHOST; he trembles, saying_). Oh, dear! oh, dear! I've seen a ghost, ghost, ghost!

[_Exit GHOST._

SHOWMAN. What is the matter, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH. I'm sick! I'm sick! I've seen a ghost. (_he lies down on the stage._)

SHOWMAN. Well, call the doctor.

PUNCH. Doctor! Doctor!

_Enter the DOCTOR._

DOCTOR. Who is that calling the doctor?

PUNCH. It is me.

DOCTOR. Where are you hurt? Is it here? (_touching his head._)

PUNCH. No; lower.

DOCTOR. Here? (_touching his breast._)

PUNCH. No; lower, lower!

DOCTOR. Here, then? (_going downwards._)

PUNCH. No; lower still.

DOCTOR. Then is your handsome leg broken?

PUNCH. No; higher.

(_As the DOCTOR leans over PUNCH'S legs to examine them, PUNCH hits him in the eye._)

DOCTOR. Oh, my eye! my eye!

PUNCH. Aye, you're right enough; it is my eye, and Betty Martin, too.

DOCTOR. Let me feel your pulse, Mr. Punch.

PUNCH (_wriggling his body as he lies, says_). Oh, dear! so sick! so sick!

DOCTOR (_feeling PUNCH'S pulse_). Why, Mr. Punch, you are all right; forty-five to the minute.

PUNCH. Oh, no! I'm dead! I'm killed!

DOCTOR. That won't do, Mr. Punch; dead men don't talk.

PUNCH (_jumping up with a lively gait_). Ah! that is so.

DOCTOR. Then, Mr. Punch, since you are not dead, pay me my fee and let me go.

PUNCH. Your fee?

DOCTOR. Yes, my fee.

PUNCH. How much?

DOCTOR. Five dollars.

PUNCH. Five dollars! Five dollars! Well, I've not got it.

DOCTOR. Well, then, go down and get it.

PUNCH. Ah! that is so! I'll just go down and bring up the money.

[_Exit._

_Re-enter PUNCH, with a stick._

PUNCH. Five dollars?

DOCTOR. Yes, and little enough, too.

PUNCH (_hitting the DOCTOR on the head_). One, two, three!

DOCTOR. Oh! golly, golly, Mr. Punch, what are you about?

PUNCH. Four, five, six dollars--one for good measure.

(_The DOCTOR falls lifeless on left-hand of the stage, and is left lying to count up in the next act._)

_Enter SCARAMOUCH._

SCARA. Ah, ah! Mr. Punch, I've found you out. That's the way you killed my poor dog, is it?

PUNCH (_striking him on the head_). Yes; just so.

(_SCARAMOUCH falls dead beside the DOCTOR. PUNCH counts them up, "_One, two._"_)

_Enter IRISHMAN._

IRISH. Hey day, Mr. Punch, I'm glad to see you. (_he shakes hands._)

PUNCH. Ah, ah! Paddy, you look merry this morning. What brings you this way?

IRISH. Only a little on the spree, and I'm going to tell you a little story.

PUNCH. Well, go ahead.

IRISH. The other day, Mr. Punch, as I was going through the forest, I met little Sammy Slick. He had in his hand a pretty little likeness of his wife. He kissed it o'er and o'er. "Just like her," says he.

PUNCH. Just like who?

IRISH. Why, just like his wife.

PUNCH. Ah! just so. (_he gives a dance, then listens._)

IRISH. Well, on comes his wife, and says: "Did it kiss you back, my dear?" "No," says he. "Then," saith his wife, "how can it be like me?" (_IRISHMAN commences to dance, singing_) I'm o'er young to marry yet, to marry yet, to----

PUNCH (_hitting him a terrific blow with his stick says_). So I think--you are o'er young to marry yet. (_he counts the dead bodies up_) One, two and three.

_Enter NEGRESS._

NEGRESS. Oh, Mr. Punch, I've been looking for you.

PUNCH. Well, my Julia, what can I do for you?

NEGRESS. I want you, Mr. Punch, to introduce me to the proprietor of this show.

PUNCH. Well, Miss Julia, I'm the proprietor. What do you wish?

NEGRESS. What! Are you the proprietor?

PUNCH. Yes, I am.

NEGRESS. Mr. Punch, I'm an opera singer, and I want to sing to the ladies and gentlemen here assembled.

PUNCH. You an uproar singer?

NEGRESS. No, an opera.

PUNCH. Yes; I said an uproar singer.

NEGRESS. Opera.

PUNCH. Yes, yes, an uproar.

NEGRESS. Well, then, an uproar, if you will have it so.

PUNCH. Well, what are you going to sing?

NEGRESS. Well, I can sing politics, sentimental, or on love.

PUNCH. Then let's have it on love.

NEGRESS (_sings_).

Two lovers wandering in a wood-- What can be more delightful? Just as they whisper, "Be my own," Should some one overhear them, Can mortal be more spiteful? Two, not three, are company-- This proverb pray remember.

PUNCH (_strikes her down with a blow from his stick, and says_). If that is uproar singing, we will have no more of that. (_he counts the bodies up_) One, two, three and four.

(_PUNCH, suspecting there to be life in some of the bodies, carries them, one at a time, to the right-hand side of the stage. After he has arranged two bodies, and is going for the third, a CLOWN walks up from behind and carries back one of the bodies; he also lies down as if dead. PUNCH, missing the body, seems nonplussed. Makes some remark, then fetches another. The CLOWN, unperceived by PUNCH, repeats his fun. PUNCH is dismayed. Returns to the left of the stage and asks the bodies: "_Are you all dead?_" and, whilst PUNCH is looking towards the right, the CLOWN, jolting up his head, says: "_Yes; all dead._" PUNCH, touching a body, says: "_Was that you?_" He goes down for his club. CLOWN shifts one to the centre of the stage. PUNCH, returning, belabors it with his club, says: "_Oh! it is you, is it?_"--hit, hit--"_You will be dead this time, I think._" Hit, hit, and places it on the right of the stage. He now discovers the CLOWN at his antics. PUNCH makes for him; stands him up against the left pillar of the stage; makes thrusts at him with the end of his club, counting, "_One, two, three--e--e;_" but every time the three is pronounced the CLOWN falls flat down, causing PUNCH to miss his mark. PUNCH says, "_I'll fix you now._" He spits against the post of the stage, and rubs the CLOWN against it. He counts, "_One, two, three--e--e._" This time pins the CLOWN to the post; but the moment the end of PUNCH'S club is removed, the CLOWN darts away, giving PUNCH a lively knock on the back of the head--makes after to run off with some of the bodies, and betwixt the CLOWN and PUNCH the stage is soon cleared._)

END OF PART II.

The performer, when engaged at Church Fairs to give his representations before successive audiences, holds up the negro to make the following announcement: "Ladies and Gentlemen: The last act concludes the show. Our next performance will take place in the course of fifteen minutes, during which we shall have the honor of introducing the famous act of

THE PERSECUTED DUTCHMAN, IN MRS. BARRISNOBE'S HOTEL."