As the curtain rises, Punch is heard behind the scenes trolling the French ballad ‘Malbrooke s’en va-t-en guerre,’ and presently appears dancing, and in high good humour, and in droll verses tells the spectators what manner of humour he is of. He calls himself a gay merry fellow, who loves to give a joke, but is not very ready to take one; and if he is ever gentle, it is only towards the fair sex. With his money he is frank and free; and his grand object is to laugh his whole life long, and to grow as fat as he can. He declares himself a great admirer and seducer of the girls, and, as long as he can get it, a friend of good cheer; when he cannot, however, he can live on cheese-parings, and if he die—why then there’s no more to be said, than that’s all over, and there’s an end of Punch and the play. (This latter avowal unquestionably smells a little of atheism.)
After this monologue, he calls behind the scene for Judy, his young wife, who will not come, but at last sends her dog instead. Punch strokes and caresses him, but the spiteful cur seizes him by the nose, and holds him fast, till after a laughable fight, and various rough jokes of the not too discreet Punch, he at last beats off the dog and gives him a sound drubbing.
His neighbour Scaramouch, hearing the noise, here enters with a large stick, and calls Punch to account why he beat Judy’s favourite dog, “that never bit anybody.” “And I never beat a dog,” replied Punch; “but,” continues he, “what have you there in your hand, my dear Scaramouch?” “Oh, nothing but a fiddle; will you hear the tone of it? Do but come and hear what a fine instrument it is.” “Thank ye, thank ye, my good Scaramouch,” replies Punch modestly, “I can distinguish the tone of it very well here.” Scaramouch, however, is not to be so put off, and while he dances about to the sound of his own singing, and flourishes his stick, he gives Punch, as if by accident, a great knock on the head. Punch affects not to heed it, but begins to dance too, and watching his opportunity suddenly snatches the stick out of Scaramouch’s hand, and in a trice gives him such a blow with it that poor Scaramouch’s head rolls down at his feet,—for where Punch lays about him the grass does not grow. “Ha! ha!” cries he, laughing, “did you hear the fiddle, my good Scaramouch? What a fine tone it has! As long as you live, my lad, you’ll never hear a finer. But where is my Judy? My sweet Judy, why don’t you come.”
Meanwhile Punch has hidden the body of Scaramouch behind the curtain, and Judy, the ‘feminine’ pendant of her husband, with the same monstrous nose, enters. A comically tender scene ensues, after which Punch asks for his child; Judy goes to fetch it, and Punch breaks forth into an ecstatic monologue on his happiness as a husband and father. The little monster arrives, and now the parents can hardly contain themselves for joy, and lavish upon it the tenderest names and caresses. Judy, however, called away by her household duties, soon departs, and leaves the infant in its father’s arms, who somewhat awkwardly tries to play the nurse and to dandle the child, which begins to cry piteously, and to behave very naughtily. Punch at first tries to soothe it, but soon grows impatient, beats it, and, as it screams all the more violently, he flies into a rage, and throws it out of the window, with curses, plump into the street, where it falls among the spectators and breaks its neck. Punch leans over the edge of the stage and looks after it, makes a few grimaces, shakes his head, and begins to laugh, and then dances about, singing merrily.
Meantime Judy returns, and asks with alarm for her darling. “The child is gone to sleep,” replies Punch carelessly; however, after a long investigation he is forced to confess that while he was playing with him, he let him fall out of the window. Judy is out of herself, tears her hair, and overwhelms her cruel tyrant with the most dreadful reproaches. In vain does he try to soothe her; she will not hear him, and runs away uttering vehement threats. Punch holds his belly for laughter, dances about, and for very wantonness, beats time with his own head upon the walls. But Judy now comes behind him with a broomstick and belabours him with all her might.
At first he gives her good words, promises never to throw another child out of the window; begs her, however, not to take the joke so seriously;—but finding that nothing will avail, he loses his patience at last, and concludes the affair as with Scaramouch;—he beats poor Judy to death. “Now,” says he drily, “our quarrel is over, dear Judy, and if you are satisfied, so am I. Come, stand up again, Judy. Oh, don’t sham, this is only one of your tricks. What, you won’t get up? Well, then, off with you!” So saying, he flings her after her child into the street.
He does not even trouble himself to look after her, but bursting into one of his usual fits of loud laughter, cries out, “’Tis a fine piece of luck to lose a wife!”
In the second act we find Punch at a rendezvous with his mistress Polly, to whom he pays his court, not in the most refined manner, and assures her that she alone can drive away all his cares, and that if he had as many wives as Solomon, he could kill them all for her sake. A courtier and friend of Polly’s then pays him a visit; this time he does not kill his man, but only thrashes him well: he is then ‘ennuyé,’ and declares that the weather being fine he will take a ride. A wild horse is brought, upon which he capers about for some time in a ludicrous fashion; but at last, from the dreadful plunging of the untameable animal, is thrown. He calls out for help, and happily his friend the doctor happens to be passing, and comes immediately. Punch lies like dead, and groans piteously. The doctor tries to tranquillize him, and feels his pulse: Punch, to be short, makes so uncivil a return for the doctor’s attentions, that the latter exclaims, “Here, Master Punch, I bring you a wholesome medicine, the only one fit for you,” and begins to thump him soundly with his gold-headed cane.
“Oh dear!” cries Punch, “many thanks to you; I want none of your physic, it gives me the headache.” “Ah, that’s only because you have taken it in too small doses,” says the doctor; “take a little more, and it will cure you.”
Punch at last feigns himself conquered, falls down exhausted, and begs for mercy; but when the credulous doctor bends down over him, Punch darts upon him like lightning, wrests the stick out of his hand and lays about him as usual.