[Exaunt from window, and re-appears with fryingpan, which he hands out of window for Punch to cook sausages in, and then disappears for a moment; after which he returns, and says, with his head out of window, ‘Would you like something hot, Punch?’
Punch. Yes, to be sure.
(Punch is up to everything. He’s a helping him to rob the publican. One’s as much in the mud as the other is in the mire.)
Clown. (Thrusting red-hot poker out of window.) Here, lay hold—Here’s a lark—Make haste—Here’s the landlord a coming. (Rubs Punch with it over the nose.)
Punch. Oh my nose!—that is a hot ’un. [Takes poker.
Clown. (Re-enters, and calls in at window.) Landlord, here’s a fellow stole your sausages and fryingpan. (Wakes up Landlord and exaunts.)
Landlord. (Appears at window.) Here’s somebody been in my house and axually stole my sausages, fryingpan, and red-hot poker!
(Clown exaunts when he has blamed it all to Punch. Joey stole ’em, and Punch took ’em, and the receiver is always worse than the thief, for if they was never no receivers there wouldn’t never be no thieves.)
Landlord. Seizing the sausages in Punch’s hand, says, How did you get these here?
Punch. Joey stole ’em, and I took ’em.