Punch. Don’t cry so, my dear. You will cry your pretty eyes out, and that would be a pity.
Polly. Oh, oh! How could you kill him?
Punch. He would not let me have you, and so I killed him. If you take on so, I must cry too—Oh, oh! (pretending to weep) How sorry I am!
Polly. And are you really sorry?
Punch. Yes, very sorry—look how I cry.
Polly (aside). What a handsome young man. It is a pity he should cry so. How the tears run down his beautiful long nose! (aloud) Did you kill my father out of love of me, and are you sorry? If you are sorry, I must forgive you.
Punch. I could kill myself for love of you, much more your father.
Polly. Do you then really love me?
Punch. I do! I do!