Peter—O Lordy! (And he crawls under the counter, and gets behind a rum cask, and is as quiet as a young rat.)
Ned (bursting through the door, and his cronies smashing the windows)—I understand you stuffed the ballot-box last night for Peter Cooper, and intend to carry the election to-day, by spurious ballots already deposited.
Jack—You are a liar. (They close, and Ned throws Jack, and mauls him awfully.)
Ned—Go in, boys, and give no quarter, and drag Peter Cooper from behind the rum cask, under the bar, and give him a dreadful flogging, for not withdrawing in favor of my candidate.
Peter—O spare me, Ned, spare me, and I’ll withdraw from the field.
Ned—Shut up, Snarlyow. Give it to him, boys, and knock his teeth down his throat, and make his nose as red as his crimes, and his eyes as black as his heart. Hit him again, and avenge his robbery of his poor old Aunt.
Peter—O spare me, kind gentlemen, and I’ll give you all the rum I’ve got in the bar, and down cellar, too.
Ned—Close your jaws, Shylock. Your time is come. (Jack now rallies, and a bloody collision ensues, and two are stabbed, and one shot, and Peter is terribly beaten, and thrown into the cellar, but soon crawls up stairs, and Peter’s friends fly for their lives.)
Peter—(sitting on a rum cask, with his nostrils blocked with coagulated blood, and his face mashed to a jelly, and Ned and his bullies drinking, laughing, singing, and dancing)—O dear me, I wish somebody would come and relieve me from the clutches of these awful men.
Ned—(throwing a glass of rum in the face of Peter)—No impudence, Peter. Another insolent word, and I’ll skin you. (The Police now rush in, and, after a bloody struggle, arrest Ned and all his followers, and drag them to prison.)