Irish. The other day, Mr. Punch, as I was going through the forest, I met little Sammy Slick. He had in his hand a pretty little likeness of his wife. He kissed it o’er and o’er. “Just like her,” says he.
Punch. Just like who?
Irish. Why, just like his wife.
Punch. Ah! just so. (he gives a dance, then listens.)
Irish. Well, on comes his wife, and says: “Did it kiss you back, my dear?” “No,” says he. “Then,” saith his wife, “how can it be like me?” (Irishman commences to dance, singing) I’m o’er young to marry yet, to marry yet, to——
Punch (hitting him a terrific blow with his stick says). So I think—you are o’er young to marry yet. (he counts the dead bodies up) One, two and three.
Enter Negress.
Negress. Oh, Mr. Punch, I’ve been looking for you.
Punch. Well, my Julia, what can I do for you?
Negress. I want you, Mr. Punch, to introduce me to the proprietor of this show.