Punch (solus, and rubbing his nose with both hands). Oh, my nose! my pretty little nose! You nasty, nasty brute, I will tell your master of you.
Re-enter Scaramouch.
Scara. Ah, ah! Mr. Punch, you got the worst of it. My dog got hold of your nose. Ah, ah! (Punch, mad at being made fun of, aims a blow at Scaramouch, but misses; he, quickly disappearing, pops up again, saying: “Never mind, Mr. Punch, I’ll fetch up a fine horse for you.” Punch commences to dance about in high glee. Scaramouch below stamps his feet, calling out: “Wo, ho, my Hector! this way, my Hector.” Punch continues his dance, then attempts to mount his Hector by the tail. Horse gallops away, Punch in pursuit.)
Re-enter Punch, leading his horse by the bridle over his arm. It prances about, and seems very unruly.
Punch. Wo, ho, my fine fellow! Wo, ho, Hector! Stand still, can’t you, and let me get my foot up to the stirrup.
(While Punch is trying to mount, the horse runs away round the stage, and Punch sets off after him, catches him by the tail, and so stops him. Punch then mounts by sitting on the front of the stage, and, with both his hands, lifting one of his legs over the animal’s back. At first it goes pretty steadily, but soon quickens its pace, while Punch, who does not keep his seat very well, cries: “Wo, ho, Hector! Wo, ho!” but to no purpose, for the horse sets off at full gallop, jerking Punch at every stride with great violence. Punch lays hold around the neck, but is ultimately thrown upon the platform.)
