Punch. Hollo! Was my face the dirtiest place you could find to spit in? Get away! you nasty old blackguard! Get away! (seizes the Blind Man’s staff, and knocks him off the stage. Punch hums a tune, and dances to it; and then begins to sing, in the mock Italian style, the following words, pretending to play the fiddle on his arm, with the stick)
When I think on you, my jewel,
Wonder not my heart is sad;
You’re so fair, and yet so cruel,
You’re enough to drive me mad.
On thy lover take some pity,
And relieve his bitter smart.
Think you Heaven has made you pretty
But to break your lover’s heart?
