Some men now bring the coffin, and place it at the foot of the gallows. “What have you there?” says Punch. “Ah ha! that is no doubt the basket to put the fruit in.”
Meanwhile Ketch returns, and greeting Punch, and opening the door politely, tells him that all is ready,—he may come when he likes. You may think that Punch is not very eager to accept the invitation. After a good deal of discussion Ketch calls out, “It’s of no use, Master Punch, you must come out and be hanged.”
“You won’t be so cruel.”
“Why were you so cruel as to kill your wife and child?”
“Is that any reason for your being cruel too?”—(argument against capital punishment.)
Ketch appeals to no better principle than that of the strongest, and drags out Punch by his hair, begging for mercy and promising amendment.
“Now, my good Punch,” says Ketch, coolly, “do but have the goodness to put your head into this noose, and all will soon be over.” Punch affects awkwardness, and can’t get his head right into the noose.
“Good God! how awkward you are!” exclaims Ketch; “you must put your head in so”—showing him. “Ay so, and then draw it tight,” cries Punch, drawing up the unwary hangman in a moment, and hanging him on the gallows; after which he hides himself behind the wall. Two men come to take away the body, lay it in the coffin, believing it to be that of the criminal, and carry it out, while Punch laughs in his sleeve, and dances away as usual.
But the shrewdest battle is yet to come, for the devil himself ‘in propriâ personâ,’ now comes to fetch him. Vainly does Punch lay before him the most acute observations; that he is a very stupid devil to wish to carry off the best friend he has on earth, and the like. The devil will not hear reason, and stretches out his long claws horribly at him. He appears just about to fly away with him, as erst with Faust, but Punch is not so easily to be dealt with; manfully he grasps his murderous staff, and defends himself even against the devil. A fearful fight ensues, and—who would have thought it possible?—Punch, so often in uttermost danger, at length remains universal conqueror, spits the black fiend on his stick, holds him up aloft, and whirling about with him with shouts of triumph, sings, while he laughs more heartily than ever.
I leave it to you to make all the philosophical reflections; of which Punch’s career is fitted to excite not a few. Above all interesting would be the inquiry, how far the daily repetition of this favourite popular drama for so many years has influenced the morality of the lower classes.